Jerry should attend at the Castle. The invitations of royalty are always
undeclinable, and Jerry obeyed accordingly. The King was much amused
with his visiter, and, says our informant, "his Majesty was delighted at
seeing him eat the state dinner, consisting of venison, &c., which had
been prepared for him."[2] Thus, Jerry was not in the parlous state
described by Touchstone: he was not damned, like the poor shepherd: _he_
had been to court. He had also learnt good and gallant manners. He
recognised many of his frequent visiters, and if any female among them
was laid hold of, in his presence, he would bristle with rage, strike
the bars of his cage with tremendous force, and violently gnash his
teeth at the ungallant offender.

[2] This reminds us of the attachment of the late Duke of
Norfolk to his dogs. They were admitted to the apartment in
which his Grace dined; and he often selected the fine cuts from
joints at table, and threw the pieces to the curs upon the
polished oak floors of Aruudel Castle.

In the autumn of 1831, Jerry's health began to decline, and he was
accordingly removed from Charing Cross to the suburban salubrity of the
Surrey Zoological Gardens. All was of no avail: though, as a biographer
would say of a nobler animal, every remedy was tried to restore him to
health. Life's fitful fever was well nigh over with him, and in the
month of December last--he died. His body was opened and examined, when
it appeared that his death was through old age; and, although he had
been a free liver, and, as Mr. Cross facetely observes, "was not a
member of a Temperance Society," his internal organization did not seem
to have suffered in the way usually consequent upon hard drinking.
Perhaps a few ascetic advocates of cant and care-wearing abstinence will
think that we ought to conceal this exceptionable fact, lest Jerry's
example should be more frequently followed. Justice demands otherwise;
and as the biographers of old tell us that Alexander the Great died of
hard-drinking, so ought we to record that Happy Jerry's life was not
shortened by the imperial propensity: in this case, the monkey has beat
the man: proverbially, the man beats the monkey. Jerry had, however, his
share of ailment: he had been a martyr to that love-pain, the
tooth-ache; several of his large molar teeth being entirely decayed.
This circumstance accounted for the gloomy appearance he would sometimes
put on, and his covering