The cattle are very small and mean, worse, I think, than any breed I ever noticed in the wildest part of North Wales, and certainly inferior to the moor breed of Devonshire and Cornwall. I speak only of countries which I know. Even in the meadows, though better, they are unaccountably small, considering the pasture. The sheep are proportionably diminutive. Admiral Bligh and I had one day the curiosity to put in the scales a hind quarter of lamb, which was purchased in the market for our table, and it weighed, the kidney and a bit of liver included, exactly----_thirteen ounces and a half_.----At Brest we had remarked the smallness of the meat brought on board, several of the quarters of mutton not weighing more than three or four pounds each. The horses are low and hardy, but, by continual importations from other parts of France, are very superior to the cattle and sheep. The women here ride astride. The houses of the peasantry are like those I described on my landing. I should oftener enter them were it not for dogs, which are chained close to the doors, by one of which I was seized by the thigh, and bitten through a thick pair of trowsers. Certainly the distresses of the times are greatly felt by all ranks of people in France; but in the cottages I have never seen want. One of the chief articles of the meals of the peasants is a sort of pancake, called _crape_ (I spell like an Englishman) made chiefly of buckwheat flour, and eaten with milk. These people are, indeed, a separate race from the body of the French, and have a language and customs of their own, to which they are tenaciously attached. I much lament that I cannot speak Welch, although so many of my happier days have been passed in Wales. As to French, it is of no more use to me among these natives, at the distance of half a mile from the town, than if I were at Ispahan or Delhi. Almost all the gentry can speak this language. The Bretons and Welsh preserve another resemblance: the latter do not love _cwrw_ (ale) better than the former do brandy. The evening of a market-day here presents as drunken a scene as I ever beheld in England; but these good folks do not appear to be so quarrelsome in their cups as ours generally are. The diocese of Quimper stands in a district called Cornwall. The truly old British words _Pen_, and _Caer_, are affixed to the names of innumerable places in the circumjacent country; and mark the origin of this people, were we to seek no other proofs.