“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.