friends.

At Quimperle was buried John de Montfort, rival of Charles of Blois for
the ducal crown. Sent to Paris under a safe-conduct by the Dauphin John,
Philip of Valois had him shut up in the Louvre, whence he escaped, after a
captivity of three years, to England. Edward III. espoused his cause and
granted him some troops. After an unsuccessful attack upon Quimper, De
Montfort died (1345) at Hennebont, and was buried in the church of the
Dominicans at Quimperle. He appointed Edward III. guardian of his son, and
Edward immediately occupied Quimperle and caused money to be struck in his
name. Lord Lewis of Spain, on the side of Charles of Blois, made a descent
upon Quimperle at the head of 6000 men, and pillaged the whole country. On
the news reaching Sir Walter Manny, he hastened to meet the enemy, took
possession of their fleet, and made such carnage of the soldiers, that
they were all killed or taken prisoners, and Lewis of Spain escaped with
difficulty. The country about Quimperle is beautiful--wood and water in
every direction. The department of Finistere is traversed by three hundred
streams, and has an extent of nearly four hundred miles of coast. We were
advised to go and see the rood-screen of the chapel of Rosgrand, but had
no time. We visited the ruins of the church of St. Columban. Above a
round-arched doorway is a beautiful flamboyant window, between two
canopied niches. We next walked up to the Place near St. Michel, where a
cattle-market was being held. The Breton peasants, with their long shaggy
uncombed hair hanging round their shoulders--they comb and wash only on
fete days--their dirty canvas bragou bras, patched coats, and sabots with
tufts of straw crammed in, looked more dirty than it is possible to
imagine. Cleanliness is the last of the Breton virtues. The market and the
fair are the two great events of the country, and people flock from great
distances to sell their merchandise. But of all extraordinary animals is
the Breton pig, as tall as a donkey; a lean, long-necked, ragged, bristly,
savage-looking beast, as ill kept as its master, and it runs like a
greyhound when approached. The Breton cow is very small, small as the
Kerry cows of Ireland, very pretty and very productive. The Breton butter
is proverbially good, and is given out most liberally, in lumps as big as
loaves, at the tables-d'hote. It is brought to market in jars which the
women carry upon their heads. It is to the Queen-Duchess