But on one occasion he met his match in a pert, jolly, keen-eyed son of Erin, who was up as a witness in a case of dispute in the matter of a horse deal. Curran was anxious to break down the credibility of this witness, and thought to do it by making the man contradict himself—by tangling him up in a network of adroitly framed questions—but to no avail. The ostler's good common sense, and his equanimity and good nature, were not to be upset. Presently, Curran, in a towering rage, thundered forth, as no other counsel would have dared to do in the presence of the Court: "Sir, you are incorrigible! The truth is not to be got from you, for it is not in you. I see the villain in your face!"—"Faith, yer honour," replied the witness, with the utmost simplicity of truth and honesty, "my face must be moighty clane and shinin' indade, if it can reflect like that." For once in his life the great barrister was floored by a simple witness. He could not recover from that repartee, and the case went against him.
When Curran heard that there was a likelihood of trouble for the part he took in 1798, and that in all probability he would be deprived of the rank of Q.C., he remarked: "They may take away the silk, but they leave the stuff behind."
"Bully" Egan had a great muscular figure, as may be guessed from the story of the duel with Curran. To his bulk he added a stentorian voice, which he freely used in Nisi Prius practice to browbeat opposing counsel and witnesses, and through which he acquired his sobriquet. On one occasion his opponent was a dark-visaged barrister who had made out a good case for his client. Egan, in the course of an eloquent address, begged the jury not to be carried away by the "dark oblivion of a brow."—"What do you mean by using such balderdash?" said a friend. "It may be balderdash," replied Egan, "but depend upon it, it will do very well for that jury." On another occasion he concluded a vituperative address by describing the defendant as "a most naufrageous ruffian."—"What sort of a ruffian is that?" whispered his junior. "I have no idea," responded Egan, "but I think it sounds well."
H. D. Grady was a strong supporter, in the Irish Parliament, of the Union of Great Britain and Ireland, although he represented a constituency strongly opposed to it; and he did not conceal the fact that the Government had made it worth his while to support them. "What!" exclaimed one of his constituents who remonstrated with him; "do you mean to sell your country?"—"Thank God," cried this patriot, "I have a country to sell."
For his Court work this anti-Nationalist barrister had what he called his "jury-eye." When he wanted a jury to note a particular point he kept winking his right eye at them. Entering the Court one day looking very depressed, a sympathetic friend asked if he was quite well, adding, "You are not so lively as usual."—"How can I be," replied Grady, "my jury-eye is out of order."
He was examining a foreign sailor at Cork Assizes. "You are a Swede, I believe?"—"No, I am not."—"What are you then?"—"I am a Dane." Grady turned to the jury, "Gentlemen, you hear the equivocating scoundrel. Go down, sir!"
Judge Boyd who, according to O'Connell, was guilty of sipping his wine through a peculiarly made tube from a metal inkstand, to which we have already referred, one day presided at a trial where a witness was charged with being intoxicated at the time he was speaking about. Mr. Harry Grady laboured hard to show that the man had been sober. Judge Boyd at once interposed and said: "Come now, my good man, it is a very important consideration; tell the Court truly, were you drunk or were you sober upon that occasion?"—"Oh, quite sober, my Lord." Grady added, with a significant look at the inkstand, "As sober as a judge!"