TWO WORLDS
ONCE more we crossed Morocco, from the shores of the Atlantic to the Algerian frontier, passing through Rabat, Sali, Meknes, Fez and Tasa without stopping for more than an occasional word with the friends we had made in these towns of the French and Moors and for the necessary rest and "restauralion"; for we were racing with the autumn to reach Ujda and from there to journey south across the High Plateaus to the oasis of Figig, that last bit of life looking into the deathmask of the desert. The winter in North Africa, with its winds and rains, is no time for the traveler to be moving.
This rapid flight across the whole country gave me a kaleidoscope of the material face of the land and afforded me the opportunity and mental leisure to pass before my mind a similarly kaleidoscopic review of the psychology of it all.
Our road carried us through the French-influenced towns and past the lands where French, Spanish and Italian colonists, employing the most modern methods of agriculture, harvested bountiful yields that paid them liberally for their far-from-easy conditions of work under the rays of the scorching sun. Before our eyes also
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