The tales about him are endless. Here are just a few I have heard from
my father's lips.

Jerry had a cousin, a wine merchant, who supplied the Bar mess, and a
complaint was lodged that the bottles were very small.

To which Jerry retorted:--

'You idiot, don't you know they shrink in the washing,' which satisfied
the grumbler. And that always seemed to me the strangest part of the
story.

In those days religious feeling ran pretty high--I will not go so far as
to say it has entirely died down to-day--and the usual Protestant toast
was:--

'The Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender.'

Now, Jerry was a Roman Catholic, none the less earnest because he had a
merry way with him. On a certain Friday he was seen to be fasting by a
very foppish barrister, who thought a great deal of himself.

He remarked to Jerry, with unnecessary impertinence:--

'Sir, it appears you have some of the Pope in your stomach.'

To which Jerry, quick as a pistol-shot, retorted:--

'And you have the whole of the Pretender in your head,' after which
there was the devil to pay.