I delight in listening to the prolonged snoring of the young when I ascend the old oak stairs to the neighbourhood of their nursery, and in hearing the shriek of the parent birds on the calm summer nights as they pass to and fro near my window; for it assures me that they are still safe; and as I know that at least a qualified protection is afforded them elsewhere, and that even their arch-enemy the gamekeeper is beginning reluctantly, but gradually, to acquiesce in the general belief of their innocence and utility, I cannot help indulging the hope that this bird will eventually meet with that general encouragement and protection to which its eminent services so richly entitle it." [Sidenote: COBBETT LOOKS AT THE SQUIRE] One more literary association: it was at Trotton that William Cobbett looked at the squire.

"From Rogate we came on to Trotton, where a Mr.
Twyford is the squire, and where there is a very fine and ancient church close by the squire's house.

I saw the squire looking at some poor devils who were making 'wauste improvements, ma'am,' on the road which passes by the squire's door.

He looked uncommonly hard at me.

It was a scrutinising sort of look, mixed, as I thought, with a little surprise, if not of jealousy, as much as to say, 'I wonder who the devil you can be ?' My look at the squire was with the head a little on one side, and with the cheek drawn up from the left corner of the mouth, expressive of anything rather than a sense of inferiority to the squire, of whom, however, I had never heard speak before." [Sidenote: HARTING'S RICHES] By passing on to Rogate, whose fine church not long since was restored too freely, and turning due south, we come to what is perhaps the most satisfying village in all Sussex--South Harting.