Assuming an air of great indignation, and with as much severity in my face as I could command, I addressed them very loudly, with my hands extended, in Russian and Chinese. Those languages were new to them, and fearing that it was some horrid imprecation, several of them dropped away. I afterwards found the plan quite successful, not only with Italian beggars, but with beggars of every nation. Tell them in any language to which they are accustomed, that you will give them nothing, and, if you are so minded, consign them to the infernal regions, and they do not mind it; but if you assume a priestly attitude, and utter something very solemnly in a language they do not understand, you have a fair prospect of getting rid of them. [Sidenote: BEGGING AS A SCIENCE.] At one place, on the road to Pompeii, there is a small hill. From the foot to the summit the distance is not more than one to two hundred feet; but the slope is so steep, that horses, in ascending it, do not travel faster than a walk. At the foot of this hill, four beggars—middle-aged women—were located; and they evidently had purchased a monopoly, or possibly a grant from government for the possession of the spot. In front of a small wine shop they had erected a pavilion, and each of them had a comfortable chair. They watched the place, and attended closely to business during the entire day. When they saw a carriage approaching, they left their chairs, and proceeded to the road, adhering closely to the vehicle until it reached the top of the hill. They begged persistently until they received what they demanded, or the top of the hill was reached. Then they returned leisurely to their chairs, and waited for the next customer. If there was but a single carriage at a time, all of them worked it. If there were two carriages, the beggars divided into couples; and if by any chance there were four carriages together, the professionals scattered, and each of them took a vehicle. I drove out on this road several times, and always found it begged by the same persons. I proposed one day to my friends to engage five carriages, and drive them out there together. I thought that we might kill the beggars by causing them to die of grief and rage at seeing a carriage pass without being able to annoy its occupants. [Sidenote: MAKING MACARONI.] Another object of interest along the road, and closely associated with the beggars, is the manufacture of macaroni. I did not enter the houses to see how the stuff was made; but I saw great quantities of it drying on frames in front of the places of its manufacture. One of my companions, who had witnessed the process, said they made macaroni by putting some dough around a long hole, and letting it dry. He said the holes did not cost anything, and the dough was not expensive. “And that is the reason,” said he, “why the confounded stuff is so cheap.”