This old place—­in fact the oldest village in the valley—­is an easy walk from Argeles, and should certainly not be excluded from a visit.  Having passed the dismantled Chateau de Despourrins and the statue at the roadside erected in the poet’s (Despourrins’) honour, we had a grand glimpse of the valley below; and, leaving behind the Chapelle de Pietad (16th century), which stands on a point above the road, we entered the village.  The street leading to the ancient Roman Church is ancient too, reminding one, in the curious construction of the houses, of Chester, the style of supporting the upper part on wooden beams, reaching over the road, and leaving a passage beneath, being very similar.  The church has been restored and is in capital preservation.  As there were so many objects of interest, chiefly connected with the great St. Savin himself, we sent for the verger, sexton, bellringer, parish beadle, or whatever the “goitreux” individual called himself, and paid great attention to all he had to say.  Although a good deal was quite unintelligible, the following are some of the most interesting facts.  Entering at the small side door, immediately within stands a curious and very old benitier (font), with two curious individuals carved in the stone supporting the basin.  These are supposed to represent two “Cagots,” a despised race for whom the font itself was constructed.  Very few people know anything about their origin, but they were greatly detested by the inhabitants of the country, and not even allowed to worship in the same church, or use the same “holy water” as the rest.  They still exist about Gavarnie and a few other spots, and we hope to learn more of them.  The old battered organ next presents itself to the view, with the long flight of steps leading up to it, but as it wished to tell its own story, without further description behold

“THE ORGAN’S TALE.”

  Good people who gaze at my ruinous state,
  Don’t lift up your noses and sneer: 
  I’ve a pitiful story I wish to relate,
  And, I pray you, believe me sincere.

  I was young, I was “sweet,” in the years that are gone,
  The breath through my proud bosom rolled,
  And I loved to peal forth as the service went on,
  O’er the heads of the worshipping fold.

  How time speeds along!  Three whole centuries—­yes!—­
  Have passed since the day of my birth;
  And, good people, I thought myself then, you may guess,
  The loveliest organ on earth.

  Such pipes and such stops! and a swell—­such a swell!!! 
  My music rang under the dome;
  And the way that I held the old folks ’neath my spell
  You should know; but alas! they’ve gone “home.”

  Then my varnish was bright, and my panels were gay
  With devices both script’ral and quaint;
  I frightened the sinner with hair turning grey,
  But charmed into rapture the saint.

  Those faces once painted so brightly would smile,
  And put out their tongues at my voice;
  As the pedals were played, they would wag all the while,
  And the children below would rejoice.