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FTER leaving the Matilija Canyon, where I had a delightful fortnight, fishing the rainbow trout in company with Birge Harrison, Mrs. Harrison, my wife and son, and a philanthropic social reformer, Anna Farnsworth, I wandered slowly up the State of California to Monterey, San Francisco, the Shasta Springs. I had a fully matured intention of continuing northwards to Vancouver, and perhaps to Alaska, and had only arrived in Portland, Oregon, when a letter containing an urgent appeal to return at once to Philadelphia reached me from William W. Porter, an attorney-at-law. I was informed of certain transactions that had taken place, and I was asked, in the public interest, to commence a contest in the courts to right a wrong. The wrong was both apparent and real; yet after a long and detailed conversation with Mr. Porter, to whom I hurried, I told him that he might enter me as a plaintiff, but that the case was lost already, because we had not a foot to stand upon. Mr. Porter differed from me; but the sequel proved that I was right. The case was tried before three courts, and each time it went against us—the last time on Washington's birthday, when the court, as a great favour to us, consented to forgo the holiday and hear counsel's pleadings. Mr. Porter on that occasion displayed all his eloquence, his power of acute and logical reasoning, his innuendo, and after the end