kills the savage fisher that attacks him, or even the
big Canada lynx, that no other creature in the woods would dare to
tackle.

Above all these puzzling contradictions is the prime question of how
Nature ever produced such a creature, and what she intended doing with
him; for he seems to have no place nor use in the natural economy of
things. Recently the Maine legislature has passed a bill forbidding the
shooting of porcupines, on the curious ground that he is the only wild
animal that can easily be caught and killed without a gun; so that a man
lost in the woods need not starve to death but may feed on porcupine, as
the Indians sometimes do. This is the only suggestion thus far, from a
purely utilitarian standpoint, that Unk Wunk is no mistake, but may have
his uses.

Once, to test the law and to provide for possible future contingencies,
I added Unk Wunk to my bill of fare--a vile, malodorous suffix that
might delight a lover of strong cheese. It is undoubtedly a good law;
but I cannot now imagine any one being grateful for it, unless the stern
alternative were death or porcupine.

The prowlers of the woods would eat him gladly enough, but that they are
sternly forbidden. They cannot even touch him without suffering the
consequences. It would seem as if Nature, when she made this block of
stupidity in a world of wits, provided for him tenderly, as she would
for a half-witted or idiot child. He is the only wild creature for whom
starvation has no terrors. All the forest is his storehouse. Buds and
tender shoots delight him in their season; and when the cold becomes
bitter in its intensity, and the snow packs deep, and all other
creatures grow gaunt and savage in their hunger, Unk Wunk has only to
climb the nearest tree, chisel off the rough, outer shell with his
powerful teeth, and then feed full on the soft inner layer of bark,
which satisfies him perfectly and leaves him as fat as an alderman.

Of hungry beasts Unk Wunk has no fear whatever. Generally they let him
severely alone, knowing that to touch him would be more foolish than to
mouth a sunfish or to bite a Peter-grunter. If, driven by hunger in the
killing March days, they approach him savagely, he simply rolls up and
lies still, protected by an armor that only a steel glove might safely
explore, and that has no joint anywhere visible to the keenest eye.

Now and then some cunning lynx or weasel, wise from experience but
desperate with hunger, throws h