Monarch is the largest bear in captivity and a thoroughbred Californian Grizzly.  No naturalist needs a second glance at him to classify him as Ursus Horribilis.  He stands four feet high at the shoulder, measures three feet across the chest, 12 inches between the ears and 18 inches from ear to nose, and his weight is estimated by the best judges at from 1200 to 1600 pounds.  He never has been weighed.  In disposition he is independent and militant.  He will fight anything from a crowbar to a powder magazine, and permit no man to handle him while he can move a muscle.  And yet when he and I were acquainted—­I have not seen him since he was taken to Golden Gate Park—­he was not unreasonably quarrelsome, but preserved an attitude of armed neutrality.  He would accept peace offerings from my hand, taking bits of sugar with care not to include my fingers, but would tolerate no petting.  Within certain limits he would acknowledge an authority which had been made real to him by chains and imprisonment, and reluctantly suspend an intended blow and retreat to a corner when insistently commanded, yet the fires of rebellion never were extinguished and it would have been foolhardy to get within effective reach of his paw.  To strangers he was irreconcilable and unapproachable.

Monarch passed three or four years in a steel cell before he was taken to the Park.  He devoted a week or so to trying to get out and testing every bar and joint of his prison, and when he realized that his strength was over-matched, he broke down and sobbed.  That was the critical point, and had he not been treated tactfully by Louis Ohnimus, doubtless the big Grizzly would have died of nervous collapse.  A live fowl was put before him after he had refused food and disdained to notice efforts to attract his attention, and the old instinct to kill was aroused in him.  His dulled eyes gleamed green, a swift clutching stroke of the paw secured the fowl.  Monarch bolted the dainty morsel, feathers and all, and his interest in life was renewed with the revival of his savage propensity to slay.

From that moment he accepted the situation and made the best of it.  He was provided with a bed of shavings, and he soon learned the routine of his keeper’s work in removing the bed.  Monarch would not permit the keeper to remove a single shaving from the cage if a fresh supply was not in sight.  He would gather all the bedding in a pile, lie upon it and guard every shred jealously, striking and smashing any implement of wood or iron thrust into the cage to filch his treasure.  But when a sackful of fresh shavings was placed where he could see it, Monarch voluntarily left his bed, went to another part of the cage and watched the removal of the pile without interfering.

In intelligence and quickness of comprehension, the Grizzly was superior to other animals in the zoological garden and compared not unfavorably with a bright dog.  It could not be said of him, as of most other animals, that man’s mastery of him was due to his failure to realize his own power.  He knew his own strength and how to apply it, and only the superior strength of iron and steel kept him from doing all the damage of which he was capable.