The record-union., 1898-04-24
THE RING DOVES.

/
| In our southwestern districts the ring
| doves make their appearance in large
numbers twice each year. Flocks OF
these pretty wild pigeons-gray, white
and OF a greenish black, they are, with
lose-colored beaks and rose-colored
claws-appear every autumn, and it is
then that the trapping season is in its
prime. Numerous fiocks, however, also
settle down in the waste forests toward
the end of winter, just at that strange
season of the year when the country
which is about to be born again, seems
lost in thought. The sap in the plants
still slumbers till suddenly ii ascends
and proceeds to thrust the leaves
| through the buds
The corn and oats are as yet nothing
but bright vapor which stains the
fields; the lucerne and French grass
still spread slowly their green tapestry
| over the meadow land; the vine stocks,
cut close to the ground, sprout forth
like the Shriveled fists of a child. only
the forest in the moorland, Wnlch
knows no winter, is green throughout
With its new pine needles. And the yell
low blossoms of the furze scatter a
shower of gold over the borders of the
highways
The ring dove owing to it's slow flight
and frequent halts, is an easy enough
mark for a gun. The really amusing
way of trapping this bird, however, is
by means OF a net. This is placed in
an isolated and silent clearing, while
I'd WI, oh
distance permit the trapper to raise the
net suddenly and thus capture the silly
birds, who have gone there to pick
grain.
Trained ring doves, whose wings have
been clipped, and whose feet are tied
allure the other birds as they pass by
them, while other birds, whose eyes
have been taken out, are placed In
neighboring trees on small movable
boards. The trapper draws a cord, the
blind dove moves it's wings
Then, according to Cesaire Poudenats,
who has initiated me into this compli-
Gated method of trapping, the doves, as
they fly overhead, say to each iother:
"See how those doves down there are
fiuttering their wings and enjoying
good grain! Shall we go down and join
them?" And they go down.
How many afternoons, stormy OF
wintry or sharpened by a slight breeze
from the northeast, which all of sud
den removed the moisture from the blue
sky: how many monotonous afternoons
of Lent, / have passed, seated beside
Cesaire in the little hut made OF
branches which hides the trappers. The
| great point is not to be seen by the
piercing black eyes of the doves, and
not to be heard by their fine ears.
These wild birds, so familiar In ap-
pearance to our tame doves, are scared
| whenever they see or hear a human be-
ing Those in the hut always speak in
whispers. When any one is approach
ing he whistles at a distance. If
some one else whistles in reply he
stops The meaning of the last whistle
is: DO not come any further; the
doves are in sight On the contrary
one may safely advance if from the
hut comes a slowly modulated cry like
this: "Aaa-ou-ou!"
II.
Cesaire Poudenats is a native of the
country. sized, slight of build
ures. white teeth and rather fine black
eyes. If one did not know it one could
not tell his age within twenty years;
he himself says that he is fifty years
of age. but is not very certain. He
was born in Criere, village situated
on the border of the old Roman road
known as La Tenareze. When he was
quite young he was a country gentle
mans valet de chambre, and about his
twentieth year he enlisted and became
a gunner of the second class.
After the treaty of peace was signed
instead of returning to his native vii
lage, he went, to use his own words
into service lin the North" meaning
thereby the suburbs of Paris. There he
remained for ten years, acting as head
groom for a distinguished banker
Having without doubt amassed small
sum of money he finally returned tC
his native district bought a little
house near Sos and made it his home
1t is there that he lives to-day, 6
| bachelor and alone.
Cesaire PoudenatS is a peculiar type
of Gascon; he is a Gascon who has
been transplanted but who has subse-
quently been replanted in his native
soil. He has only a slight accent and
he speaks the patois badly. Since he
knows the manner in which the landed
gentry of the Seine-et-Oise country
live, he regards with a slight disdair
the luxurious mode of living of the
little local gentry. He has acquired
lin the North" a vice which is rare
here, where every one is sober, as is
the case in all districts where there
are vineyards; he gets drunk.
Still, no matter how intoxicated he
may be, neither the keenness of his
eye nor the acuteness of his hearing Is
ever in the least affected. His figure,
| too remains erect as though he Still
wore the red livery. The only differ
| ence is that whereas he is silent and
a little sombre when he is sober, he be-
comes expansive and talkative when he
| is in his cups. Stories of himself he
tells as he quaffs the old Armagnao
wine. Every little glass that he drank
| in my presence produced some story
about his adventurous life that cast
some light on his true character. AS
soon as the slight intoxication has dis
| appeared he distrusts himself and
says: "Of course you know everything
I told YOU yesterday is only what
heard in the North. AS the people OF
Paris say, my stories are all humbug.
Poor Cesaire. He made mistake
in thus giving himself the lie The
| true Cesaire the man whom the glasses
of Armagnac taught me to know, i,
| The better of the two.
| III.
But, Cesaire, why did you suddenly
leave your native district when you
| were % years of age2"