A somewhat supercilious smile came over the countenance of the juror; and he looked round at the person who could presume to make such a remark, with something very like an air of contempt. “I am _Doctor_ Robinson,” he then observed, laying emphasis on his learned appellation. Williams seemed at a loss; for, to say the truth, he had never heard of any such physician in the county. Timms was quite as much mystified; when a member of the bar leaned across a table, and whispered to Dunscomb that the juror was a celebrated quack, who made pills that would cure all diseases; and who, having made a fortune, had bought a place in the county, and was to all legal purposes entitled to serve. “The juror can stand aside,” said Dunscomb, rising in his slow dignified manner. “If it please the court, _we_ challenge peremptorily.” Timms looked still more surprised; and when told the reason for the course taken by his associate, he was even sorry. “The man is a _quack_,” said Dunscomb, “and there is quackery enough in this system of a jury, without calling in assistance from the more open practitioners.” “I’m afraid, ’Squire, he is just the sort of man we want. I can work on such spirits, when I fail altogether with more everyday-kind of men. A little quackery does no harm to some causes.” “Ira Kingsland,” called out the clerk. Ira Kingsland appeared, a staid, solid, respectable husbandman—one of those it is a mistaken usage of the country to term yeomen; and of a class that contains more useful information, practical good sense and judgment, than might be imagined, under all the circumstances. As no objection was raised, this juror was received, and the pannel was complete. After cautioning the jurors about listening and talking, in the usual way, the judge adjourned the court for dinner. CHAPTER XXI. “I know it is dreadful! I feel the Anguish of thy generous soul—but I was born To murder all who love me.” _George Barnwell._