But we approach our home. How still the trees! How deliciously asleep the country! How beautifully grim and nocturnal this wooded avenue of ascent against the cold white sky! The watchmen and patrols, which the careful citizens have planted in abundance within a mile of their doors, salute us with their "Good mornings"--not so welcome as we pretend; for we ought not to be out so late; and it is one of the assumptions of these fatherly old fellows to remind us of it. Some fowls, who have made a strange roost in a tree, flutter as we pass them--another pull up the hill, unyielding; a few strides on a level; and _there_ is the light in the window, the eye of the warm soul of the house--one's home. How particular, and yet how universal, is that word; and how surely does it deposit every one for himself in his own nest! PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LIMITED PLYMOUTH End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Coaches and Coaching, by Leigh Hunt