Not long since, a man in Connecticut shot an eagle of the largest kind. The creature fell to the ground, and being only wounded, the man carried him home, alive.
He now gave him to another man, who took good care of the wounded bird, and pretty soon he got quite well. The eagle became attached to the place where he was thus taken care of, and though he was permitted to go at large, and often flew away to a considerable distance, he would always come back again.
He used to take his station in the door-yard, in front of the house: if any well-dressed person came through this yard, to the house, the eagle would sit still and make no objections; but if a ragged person came into the yard, he would fly at him, seize his clothes with one claw, and hold on to the grass with the other, and thus make him a prisoner.
Often was the proprietor of the house called upon to release persons that had been thus seized by the eagle. It is a curious fact that the bird never attacked ragged people going to the house the back way: it was only when they attempted to enter through the front door, that he assailed them. What renders this story very curious is, that the bird had never been trained to act in this manner.
This eagle had some other curious habits. He did not go out every day to get a breakfast, dinner and supper: his custom was, about once a week, to make a hearty meal, and that was sufficient for six days. His most common food was the king-bird, of which he would sometimes catch ten in the course of a few hours—and these would suffice for his weekly repast.
This bird at last made such havoc with the poultry of the neighbors, that the proprietor was obliged to kill him.
It seems that the aversion of this eagle to ragged people, was not altogether singular; for a person who writes to the editor of the New York American, says that he once knew a Baltimore Oriole, that would always manifest the greatest anger if a shabby person came into the room. This bird also disliked colored people, and if he could get at them, he would fly in their faces, and peck at them very spitefully—while he did no such thing to white people.
The following letter has been some time in hand. Will our little friend, the writer, forgive us for not inserting it sooner? Our correspondents must remember that we have many things to attend to, and if some of their favors seem to be overlooked, we hope they will not scold.
My dear Mr. Merry: