The union of the Irish people lay in the absolute community of learning, institutions, and law. Irish law was one of the most striking products of Irish genius. If we know nothing of its beginnings, we see it as a body of custom that spread over the entire country, varying not at all from province to province. Highly finished, highly technical, worked on for hundreds of years by successive commentators, it still remained the law of the people, and claimed their allegiance—an allegiance could only have been possible to a law founded on reason and justice, and expedient and efficient in practice. If we take that which in an agricultural country comes home to every peasant—the land system—the native law in Ireland was equal, enduring, and respected. The farmer was assured a fair rent and compensation for improvements. No chief in Ireland could molest the people in their ancient privilege; he could neither evict them, nor take their grazing-lands, nor make a forest waste and impose a forest law for his hunting. Five hundred years after the Norman invasion Irish farmers holding under the old Irish law were still paying the same rent that their forefathers had paid centuries before. It is certain that no system can wholly prevent misfortune, injustice, or usurpation; but there seems to have been among the people a social content far beyond that in mediæval England, a long security of farmers, a passionate belief in their land system, an extraordinary tenacity in its defence against any other, and as far as we can see no bitterness of classes. A satirist might mock at the depth of the chief’s pocket, as deep as the pocket of the Church or of the poet; but the Irish no more wanted to get rid of the chief than of the poet or the priest. In Tudor times the only way in which a chief could be absolutely alienated and divided from his people was by pledging him to the English land system and government.