Walk along a street in Rome or stop beside one of its many beautiful fountains, you will meet a working girl, a laborer's daughter, whose noble lines will recall to you a "Minerva" in the Capitol. The psychology of that resemblance is the admiration of Italians for works of art. It is as with music. Every man and woman in Italy loves music and can sing, because all his or her life good music has been within sound of their ears. The Roman children are as much accustomed to beautiful paintings and statues as a farmer's son is to apple trees in the orchard. We become like that which we often see. We form ourselves upon the pattern of our thoughts. The poorest woman in Italy has her favorite "Madonna," and, he assured, it is not one of the most beautiful, but by the star Company. Great Britain is the Winged Victory of Samothrace and Princess Fernanda in One of the Attitudes by Which She Cultivates the Same Bodily Expression. One which she in some degree resembles. My childish admiration was fired by the fourteenth century Madonna. I particularly admired that of Perugini. I studied her attitude, her expression, the soul atmosphere reflected in her eyes. I sat before the mirror and in the same posture as my Madonna. My study and devotion were rewarded. My childish eyes and those of my elders began to note the resemblance. 