At Damietta he saw the cell of the Sheïkh Jemaleddin, leader of the sect of the Kalenders celebrated in the Arabian Nights, who shave their chins and their eyebrows, and spend their whole lives in the contemplation of the beatitude and perfection of God. Journeying onwards through the cities and districts of Fariskūr, Ashmūn el Rommān, and Samānūd, he at length arrived at Misz, or Cairo, where he appears to have first tasted the pure waters of the Nile, which, in his opinion, excel those of all other rivers in sweetness. Departing from Cairo, and entering Upper Egypt, he visited, among other places, the celebrated monastery of Clay and the minyet of Ibn Khasib. Upon the mention of this latter place, he takes occasion to relate an anecdote of a poet, which, because it is in keeping with our notions of what a man of genius should be, we shall here introduce. Ibn Khasib, raised from a state of slavery to the government of Egypt, and again reduced to beggary, and deprived of sight by the caprice and cruelty of a calif of the house of Abbas, had while in power been a munificent patron and protector of literary men. Hearing of his magnificence and generosity, a poet of Bagdad had undertaken to celebrate his praises in verse; but before he had had an opportunity of reciting his work, Khasib was degraded from his high office, and thrown out in blindness and beggary into the streets of Bagdad. While he was wandering about in this condition, the poet, who must have known him personally, encountered him, and exclaimed, “O, Khasib, it was my intention to visit thee in Egypt to recite thy praises; but thy coming hither has rendered my journey unnecessary. Wilt thou allow me to recite my poem?”—“How,” said Khasib, “shall I hear it? Thou knowest what misfortunes have overtaken me!” The poet replied, “My only wish is that thou shouldst hear it; but as to reward, may God reward thee as thou hast others.” Khasib then said, “Proceed with thy poem.” The poet proceeded:— “Thy bounties, like the swelling Nile, Made the plains of Egypt smile,” &c. When he had concluded, “Come here,” said Khasib, “and open this seam.” He did so. Khasib then said, “Take this ruby.” The poet refused; but being adjured to do so, he complied, and went away to the street of the jewellers to offer it for sale. From the beauty of the stone, it was supposed it could have belonged to no one but the calif, who, being informed of the matter, ordered the poet before him, and interrogated him respecting it. The poet ingenuously related the whole truth; and the tyrant, repenting of his cruelty, sent for Khasib, overwhelmed him with splendid presents, and promised to grant him whatever he should desire. Khasib demanded and obtained the small minyet in Upper Egypt in which he resided until his death, and where his fame was still fresh when Ibn Batūta passed through the country.