Law and Laughter

by George A. Morton; D. Macleod Malloch

During one of the Circuits, Curran was dining with a brother advocate at a small inn kept by a worthy woman known by the Christian name of Honoria, or, as it is generally called, Honor. The gentlemen were so pleased with their entertainment that they summoned Honor to receive their compliments and drink a glass of wine with them. She attended at once, and Curran after a brief eulogium on the dinner filled a glass, and handing it to the landlady proposed as a toast "Honor and Honesty," to which the lady with an arch smile added, "Our absent friends," drank off her amended toast and withdrew.

He happened one day to have for his companion in a stage-coach a very vulgar and revolting old woman, who seemed to have been encrusted with a prejudice against Ireland and all its inhabitants. Curran sat chafing in silence in his corner. At last, suddenly, a number of cows, with their tails and heads in the air, kept rushing up and down the road in alarming proximity to the coach windows. The old woman manifestly was but ill at ease. At last, unable to restrain her terror, she faltered out, "Oh dear; oh dear, sir! what can the cows mean?"—"Faith, my good woman," replied Curran, "as there's an Irishman in the coach, I shouldn't wonder if they were on the outlook for a bull!"

Curran was once asked what an Irish gentleman, just arrived in England, could mean by perpetually putting out his tongue. "I suppose," replied the wit, "he's trying to catch the English accent."

During the temporary separation of Lord Avonmore and Curran, Egan espoused the judge's imaginary quarrel so bitterly that a duel was the consequence. The parties met, and on the ground Egan complained that the disparity in their sizes gave his antagonist a manifest advantage. "I might as well fire at a razor's edge as at him," said Egan, "and he may hit me as easily as a turf-stack."—"I'll tell you what, Mr. Egan," replied Curran; "I wish to take no advantage of you—let my size be chalked out upon your side, and I am quite content that every shot which hits outside that mark should go for nothing." And in another duel, in which his opponent was a major who had taken offence at some remark the eminent counsel had made about him in Court, the major asked Curran to fire first. "No," replied Curran, "I am here on your invitation, so you must open the ball."

Sir Thomas Furton, who was a respectable speaker, but certainly nothing more, affected once to discuss the subject of eloquence with Curran, assuming an equality by no means palatable to the latter. Curran happening to mention, as a peculiarity of his, that he could not speak above a quarter of an hour without requiring something to moisten his lips, Sir Thomas, pursuing his comparisons, declared he had the advantage in that respect. "I spoke," said he, "the other night in the Commons for five hours on the Nabob of Oude, and never felt in the least thirsty."—"It is very remarkable, indeed," replied Curran, "for everyone agrees that was the driest speech of the session."

Lord Clare (says Mr. Hayward) had a favourite dog which was permitted to follow him to the Bench. One day, during an argument of Curran's, the Chancellor turned aside and began to fondle the dog, with the obvious view of intimating inattention or disregard. The counsel stopped; the judge looked up: "I beg your pardon," continued Curran, "I thought your lordship had been in consultation."

Curran often raised a laugh at Lord Norbury's expense. The laws, at that period, made capital punishment so general that nearly all crimes were punishable with death by the rope. It was remarked Lord Norbury never hesitated to condemn the convicted prisoner to the gallows. Dining in company with Curran, who was carving some corned beef, Lord Norbury inquired, "Is that hung beef, Mr. Curran?"—"Not yet, my lord," was the reply; "you have not tried it."

"A doldrum, Mr. Curran! What does the witness mean by saying you put him in a doldrum?" asked Lord Avonmore. "Oh, my lord, it is a very common complaint with persons of this description; it's merely a confusion of the head arising from a corruption of the heart."

Angered one day in debate, he put his hand on his heart, saying, "I am the trusty guardian of my own honour."—"Then," replied Sir Boyle Roche, "I congratulate my honourable friend in the snug little sinecure to which he has appointed himself."