Arnold made an argument in which he criticized the demurrer in a manner that increased the young lawyer’s confusion. However, Blackburn knew that he had to make some kind of an effort. He proceeded with a few remarks, weak and bewildering, and was about to sit down when a tall, homely, loose-jointed man sitting in the bar arose and addressed the court in behalf of the position the young Kentuckian had assumed in a feeble and tangled argument, making the points so clear that the court sustained the demurrer. Blackburn did not know who his volunteer friend was, and Mr. Arnold got up and sought to rebuke the latter for attempting to interfere in the case, which he had nothing to do with. This volunteer was none other than Abraham Lincoln, and this was the first and last time the Kentuckian ever saw the “rail-splitting President.” In replying to Mr. Arnold’s strictures, Mr. Lincoln said he claimed the privilege of giving a young lawyer a helping hand when struggling with his first case, especially when he was pitted against an experienced practitioner. LINCOLN SETTLES A QUARREL WITHOUT GOING TO LAW. When Abe Lincoln used to be drifting around the country practicing law in Fulton and Menard counties, Illinois, an old fellow met him going to Lewistown, riding a horse which, while it was a serviceable enough an animal, was not of the kind to be truthfully called a fine saddler. It was a weather-beaten nag, patient and plodding and it toiled along with Abe--and Abe’s books, tucked away in saddle-bags, lay heavy on the horse’s flank. “Hello, Uncle Tommy,” said Abe. “Hello, Abe,” responded Uncle Tommy. “I’m powerful glad to see ye, Abe, fer I’m gwyne to have sumthin’ fer ye at Lewiston cot, I reckon.” “How’s that, Uncle Tommy?” said Abe. “Well, Jim Adams, his land runs long o’ mine, he’s pesterin’ me a heap an’ I got to get the law on Jim, I reckon.” “Uncle Tommy, you haven’t had any fights with Jim, have you?” “No.” “He’s a fair to middling neighbor, isn’t he?” “Only tollable, Abe.” “He’s been a neighbor of yours for a long time, hasn’t he?” “Nigh on to fifteen year.” “Part of the time you get along all right, don’t you?” “I reckon we do, Abe.” “Well, now, Uncle Tommy, you see this horse of mine? He isn’t as good a horse as I could straddle, and I sometimes get out of patience with him, but I know his faults. He does fairly well as horses go, and it might take me a long time to get used to some other horse’s faults. For all horses have faults. You and Uncle Jimmy must put up with each other as I and my horse do with one another.” “I reckon, Abe,” said Uncle Tommy, as he bit off about four ounces of Missouri plug. “I reckon you’re about right.” And Abe Lincoln, with a smile on his gaunt face, rode on toward Lewistown. A LINCOLN STORY ABOUT LITTLE DAN WEBSTER’S SOILED HANDS. Mr. Lincoln, on one occasion narrated to Hon. Mr. Odell and others, with much zest, the following story about young Daniel Webster: