“No it won’t, father, I know it won’t, it looks so good. Do let me eat it!”
After a little more teasing, the father consented, and the child eat the pear. The consequence was, that, the next day, he was taken sick, and came very near dying. Now all this happened because the child was impatient. He couldn’t wait, and, accordingly, the pear, that might have been very pleasant and harmless, was the occasion of severe illness. Thus it is that impatience, in a thousand instances, leads children, and pretty old ones too, to convert sources of happiness into actual mischief and misery.
There were some boys once who lived near a pond; and when winter came, they were very anxious to have it freeze over, so that they could slide and skate upon the ice. At last, there came a very cold night, and in the morning the boys went to the pond, to see if the ice would bear them. Their father came by at the moment, and seeing that it was hardly thick enough, told the boys that it was not safe yet, and advised them to wait another day before they ventured upon it.
But the boys were in a great hurry to enjoy the pleasure of sliding and skating. So they walked out upon the ice; but pretty soon it went crack—crack—crack! and down they were all plunged into the water! It was not very deep, so they got out, though they were very wet, and came near drowning; and all because they could not wait.
Now these things, though they may seem to be trifles, are full of instruction. They teach us to beware of impatience, to wait till the fruit is ripe; they teach us that the cup of pleasure, seized before the proper time, is turned into poison. They show us the importance of patience.
Travels, Adventures, and Experiences of Thomas Trotter.
CHAPTER VI.
Journey to Mount Ætna.—Mule travelling.—Neglected state of the country.—Melilla, the town of honey.—Narrow escape of the author.—Prospect of Ætna.—A Sicilian village and country-house described.—Comparison of Sicily with New England.
I left Syracuse in the morning, to pursue my journey toward Mount Ætna. There was no road for wheel-carriages, although the distance to the mountain is but about thirty miles, and the city of Catania, which is as large as Boston, stands directly at the foot of the mountain. If this island was inhabited by Americans, they would build a railroad between the two cities in a year’s time; and hundreds of people would be travelling upon it every day. But the Sicilians are so lazy, and so negligent of improving their country, that there is only a mule-path through the wood and along the sea-shore for the whole distance. I found a company of muleteers ready to set out for Catania, with about twenty mules laden with goods, and I hired one of their beasts for a couple of dollars. The mules travelled slowly, going at a very small trot or quick walk: they were stout, strong-backed creatures, and carried heavy loads on their backs. The path was rough and wild, full of ups and downs, and strewed with rocks; but the mules were very sure-footed, and trotted along, jumping like cats from rock to rock, and clambering up and down rough places as if they had hooks to their toes. I had heard before that a mule never slips nor stumbles, but I was astonished to see what rough and craggy spots they would get over without the least difficulty. A horse would have broken his neck and all his legs in attempting to go a quarter of a mile on such a road as we travelled.
We went along in a string, Indian file, as the phrase is. The head mules had bells on their saddles, which made a perpetual tinkling. These bells were very useful in many parts of the journey: sometimes the rear mules lagged behind, stretching out the train to a great length. When the course lay among woods, rocks, and bushes, the track was hardly discernible, and those in the rear would have strayed from the leaders but for the sound of the bells. It was the 27th of February, yet the weather was as mild as the latter part of May, in New England. The almond-trees were covered with blossoms, and the fig-trees were beginning to bud. An almond-tree is about the size of a peach-tree, and when in bloom, looks almost exactly like it. Fig-trees are of all sizes, up to that of a large apple-tree.