On Travel and Other Things 19 
stones of Deucalion, so soon as Spain shall have shaken off her 
incubus of lethargy and the tyranny that clogs the wheels of 
progress. Nor need the interval be long. 
That sound human material continues to exist in rural Spain 
we have had recent evidence during the calling-out of levies of 
young troops ordered abroad to serve their country in Morocco. 
None could witness the entrainment at some remote station of 
a detachment of these fine lads without being struck by their 
bearing, their set purpose, and above all their patriotism. With 
such material, with a well cared-for, contented, and loyal 
army and a broadening of view, wisely graduated but equally 
_ resolute, Spain moves forward. Alfonso XIII. is a soldier first— 
No! Above that he is a king by nature, but his care for his 
army and its well-being has already borne fruits that are making 
and will make for the honour, safety, and advancement of his 
country. 
To resume our interrupted note on travel: whether you are 
riding across bush-clad hills, over far-spread prairie, or through the 
defiles of the sierra, as shadows lengthen the problem of a night’s 
lodging obtrudes. There is a variety of solutions. At a pinch— 
as when belated or benighted—one may, in desperate resort, seek 
shelter in a choza. Now a choza is the reed-thatched hut which 
forms the rural peasant’s lonely home. Assuredly you will be 
made welcome, and that with a grace and a courtesy—aye, a 
courtliness—that characterises even the humblest in Spain. The 
best there is will be at your disposal; yet—if permissible to say 
so in face of such splendid hospitality (and in the hope that these 
good leather-clad friends of ours may not read this book)—the 
open air is preferable. There exists in a choza absolutely no 
accommodation—not a separate room; a low settee running 
round the interior, or a withy frame, forms the bed; those kindly 
folk live all together, along with their domestic animals—and 
pigs are reckoned such in Spain. Let us gratefully pay this due 
tribute to our peasant friends—but let us sleep outside. 
At each village will usually be found a posada. These differ 
in degree, mostly from bad downwards. The lowlier sort—little 
better than the choza—is but a long, low, one-storeyed barn 
which you share with fellow-wayfarers, and your own and their 
