"There is no joy but calm!
Why should we only _toil_, the roof and crown of things."

"Why, indeed, should we toil?" I repeated languidly, at the same time
gently and slowly breaking off the end of my cigar-ash.

"Why, indeed?" echoed my friend in a sleepy tone; and, unlike his usual
wont, he was quite disinclined to argue the point, being too lazy for
anything.

In another moment we had both sprung to our feet, most thoroughly roused
from our apathy; the fact was, a big brute of a sheep-dog suddenly
jumped in upon us, barking loud and fiercely. We very soon found means
to rid ourselves of the dog, but that was the least part of the
incident. It appeared that the noise and suddenness of the outburst had
so frightened our horses that they took to their heels and galloped off
as hard as they could tear. Of course we were after them like a shot,
but they had gone all manner of ways. I spotted my little Servian nag
breasting the hill to our right in grand style; the saddle-bags were
beating his flanks. A pretty race we had after those brutes of horses!
We had to jump ditches, and struggle up sandbanks, tear through
undercover, and finally H---- got "stogged" in a treacherous green
marsh. Was there ever anything so exasperating and ridiculous?

After running more or less for three-quarters of an hour in a sweltering
heat, we came upon the horses in an open glade in the wood, where they
were calmly regaling in green pastures, like lotus-eaters themselves.
Never from that day forward have I forgotten the necessary duty of
picketing my horse.