We have inherited many customs and institutions from our Saxon forefathers, which connect our own age with theirs. In recent years we have established parish councils in our villages. Formerly the pet theory of politicians was centralisation; everything had to be done at one centre, at one central office, and London became the head and centre of all government. But recently politicians thought that they had discovered a new plan for carrying on the internal affairs of the country, and the idea was to leave each district to manage its own affairs. This is only a return to the original Saxon plan. In every village there was a moot-hill, or sacred tree, where the freemen met to make their own laws and arrange their agricultural affairs. Here disputes were settled, plough lands and meadow lands shared in due lot among the villagers, and everything arranged according to the custom of the village. Our county maps show that the shires are divided into hundreds. This we have inherited from our Saxon forefathers. In order to protect themselves from their neighbours, the Saxon colonists arranged themselves in hundreds of warriors. This little army was composed of picked champions, the representatives of a hundred families; men who were ready in case of war to uphold the honour of their house, and to fight for their hearths and homes. These hundred families recognised a bond of union with each other and a common inheritance, and ranged themselves under one name for general purposes, whether for defence, administration of justice, or other objects. On a fixed day, three times a year, in some place where they were accustomed to assemble--under a particular tree,[1] or near some river-bank--these hundred champions used to meet their chieftain, and gather around him when he dismounted from his horse. He then placed his spear in the ground, and each warrior touched it with his own spear in token of their compact, and pledged himself to mutual support. At this assembly criminals were tried, disputes settled, bargains of sale concluded; and in later times many of these transactions were inserted in the chartularies of abbeys or the registers of bishops, which thus became a kind of register too sacred to be falsified. A large number of the hundreds bear the name of some chieftain who once used to call together his band of bearded, light-haired warriors and administer rude justice beneath a broad oak's shade.[2] Others are named after some particular spot, some tree, or ford, or stone, or tumulus, where the hundred court met.