In his charges to juries, O'Grady frequently made some quaint remarks. There was a Kerry case in which a number of men were indicted for riot and assault. Several of them bore the familiar names of O'Donoghue, Moriarty, Duggan, &c., while among the jurymen these names were also found. Well knowing that consanguinity was prevalent in the district, the judge began his address to the jury with the significant remark: "Of course, gentlemen, you will acquit your own relatives." In another case of larceny of pantaloons which was clearly proved, but in which the thief got a good character for honesty, he began: "Gentlemen, the prisoner was an honest boy, but he stole the pantaloons."
"I merely wish to address your lordship on the form of the indictment, if your lordship pleases," said a young barrister to the Chief Baron. "Oh, certainly, I will hear you with mighty great pleasure, sir; but I'll be after taking the verdict of the jury first," was the sarcastic reply.
The brother of Chief Baron O'Grady once caught a boy stealing turnips from one of his fields and asked his lordship if the culprit could be prosecuted under the Timber Acts. "No," said the Chief Baron, "unless you can prove that your turnips are sticky."
Yelverton, first Baron Avonmore, possessed remarkable rhetorical ability and a highly cultivated mind. He rose rapidly at the Bar, until he became Chief Baron of Exchequer. He was the founder of the convivial order of St. Patrick, called "The Monks of the Screw," of which Curran, who wrote its charter song, was Prior. Avonmore was a man of warm and benevolent feelings, which he gave vent to in an equal degree in private life, in the senate, and on the Bench.
Before giving an anecdote of Lord Avonmore it may interest readers, especially English and Scottish, to quote here the charter song of this famous Irish convivial club of the eighteenth century.
THE CHARTER SONG OF THE
MONKS OF THE SCREW
When St. Patrick this order establish'd,
He called us the "Monks of the Screw"!
Good rules he reveal'd to our Abbot,
To guide us in what we should do.
But first he replenish'd our fountain,
With liquor the best in the sky;
And he swore on the word of a saint
That the fountain should never run dry.
Each year when your octaves approach,
In full chapter convened let me find you,
And when to the convent you come
Leave your favourite temptation behind you;
And be not a glass in your convent,
Unless on a festival found;
And this rule to enforce I ordain it,
Our festival all the year round.