_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.