[78] Vizcaya and Guipúzcoa are, with Barcelona and Pontevedra, the most densely populated provinces in Spain. The Basques have a genius for administration which is not to be found in other parts of the Peninsula. Their excellent roads and cleanly kept towns form a striking contrast. They have a true love of local independence, and in the eighteenth century we find two Basque frontier villages, Vera and Sare, styling themselves in a treaty the “two Republics.” The treaty concerned Yerbas y Aguas y Bellotas; grass, water and acorns. Similarly, to-day, in the Basque provinces groups of small villages and houses are joined in free “hermandades,” “universidades,” “anteiglesias,” “valles.” The few privileges that remain are jealously guarded. The Navarrese will tell you with pride that theirs is the only province where a man is allowed to find a substitute in the conscriptions. [79] The Spanish Premier himself has said in the Senate (October, 1910), that if the Basque Provinces are more advanced than other parts of Spain this is due not to their merits, but to the favouritism of governments. A knowledge of the Basques, however, hardly warrants this statement. Since the abolition of the _fueros_, says the late Mr. Butler Clarke, in “Modern Spain,” “their efforts are restricted to making the administration of their provinces a model for the rest of Spain.” [80] The Basques took their revenge by the hand of M. l’Abbé d’Iharce de Bidassouet. In his “Histoire des Cantabres,” tom. I. Paris, 1825 (vol. ii. was not published), he derives all names of places from Basque, as the original language of the world. “Je ne serai pas assez hardi,” he says, “pour soutenir que le Père Éternel parlât basque,” but he is really convinced that it is so. L’Andalousie, with the help of the article, he derives from two Basque words, “landa lusia,” long land. Versailles is a Basque word, so is Athens, so is Helicon. Norway puzzles him for a moment, but soon with the remark that “Norvège est un mot altéré et corrompu,” he tosses it aside and proceeds on his reckless etymological course. Certainly to the irresponsible philologist Basque offers a delightful field. For instance, the name of the desolate salt lake of Kevir in Persia has been derived from a word “gavr” or “gav” (“hollow,” “depression”). In Basque “gabe” means without, and the word for night is also “gabe” (no doubt as being a hollow without light). Then we have the Gaves, de Pau, d’Oloron, etc.; the Spanish “gaveta” (a pigeonhole), “gavia” (pit dug for planting a tree); “cavus,” “cave” and so forth. But to draw inferences as to the origin of the Iberians, as to whether the same or different peoples inhabited the Caucasus and the Pyrenees, or even as to whether “le Père Éternel parlât Basque,” is a very different matter, beset with pitfalls innumerable.