Returning to El Zaitūn, he proceeded towards the capital, and halted a little at the city of Fanjanfūr, which, from the number and beauty of its gardens, in some measure resembled Damascus. Here, at a banquet to which he was invited, the remembrance of home was forcibly recalled to his mind by a very affecting and unexpected meeting. He was sitting at table, among his jovial entertainers, when a great Mohammedan fakeer, who entered and joined the company, attracted his attention; and as he continued to gaze earnestly at him for some time, the man at length observed him, and said, “Why do you continue looking at me, unless you know me?” To this Ibn Batūta replied, by demanding the name of his native place. “I am,” said the man, “from Ceuta.”—“And I,” replied Ibn Batūta, “am from Tangiers.” By that peculiar structure of the mind which gives associations of ideas, whether pleasurable or painful, so thorough an empire over our feelings, the very enunciation of those two sounds melted and subdued the temper of their souls. The fakeer saluted him, and wept; and the traveller, returning his salute, wept also. Ibn Batūta then inquired whether he had ever been in India, and was informed that he had remained for some time in the imperial palace of Delhi. A sudden recollection now flashed upon our traveller’s mind: “Are you, then, El Bashiri?” said he; and the fakeer replied, “I am he.” Ibn Batūta now knew who he was, and remembered that while yet a youth without a beard he had travelled with his uncle, Abul Kasim, from Africa to Hindostan; and that he himself had afterward recommended him as an able repeater of the Koran to the emperor, though the fakeer, preferring liberty and a rambling life, had refused to accept of any office. He was now in possession, however, of both rank and riches, and bestowed many presents upon his former benefactor. To show the wandering disposition of the men, our traveller remarks that he shortly after met with the brother of this fakeer at Sondan, in the heart of Africa.