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 his head with his hands, and laying it in his chair. Poor fellow! we could have sympathized with him from our very hearts--we mean teeth. Jerry's remains have been carefully embalmed, (we hope in his favourite spirit,) and are now at the Surrey Gardens; where the arrival of a living congener is daily expected. Meanwhile, will nobody write the _hic jacet_ of the deceased? or no publisher engage for his reminiscences? Mr. Cross would probably supply the skeleton--of the memoir--not of his poor dead Jerry. What tales could he have told of the slave-stricken people of the Gold Coast, what horrors of the slave-ship whence he was taken, what a fine graphic picture of his voyage, and his travels in England, _à la Prince Puckler Muskau_, not forgetting his visit to Windsor Castle. Baboons may be rendered docile in confinement; though they almost always retain the disposition to revenge an injury. At the Cape, they are often caught when young, and brought up with milk; perhaps Jerry was so nurtured; and Kolben tells us, that they will become as watchful over their master's property as the most valuable house-dog is in Europe. Many of the Hottentots believe they can speak, but that they avoid doing so lest they should be enslaved, and compelled to work! What a libel upon human nature is conveyed in this trait of savage credulity. The bitterest reproofs of man's wickedness are not only to be found in the varnished lessons of civilization. Here is a touching piece of simplicity upon which James Montgomery might found a whole poem.