OBITUARY A LITTLE IN ADVANCE.
Died the other day, by Act of Parliament, that time-honoured old nuisance, the City of London: very sincerely execrated by all who knew it, its civic brethren alone perhaps excepted. Though sudden at last, its death, by no means, was an unexpected one: for in the public estimation it was known that the deceased had long been sinking. Among the causes which chiefly led to its dissolution, we believe especial prominence must be given to its fondness for good living. Its favourite dish perhaps was turtle soup, of which its consumption was habitually enormous. We believe it has been even known to devour as many as four hundred quarts at a single dinner.
Gluttony, however, was not its only failing. Its love of "good things" was by no means confined to those of the dinner-table: for its appetite for venison was more than equalled by its thirst for wealth. We might enumerate many acts of extortion by which its existence was rendered infamous. The blackest of these however was, we think, its coal-tax; of which its imposition was regarded as such, in more than one sense of the substantive, being justly complained of, as a burning shame, by all who suffered from it.
Another failing of the deceased was its utter want of taste—in everything but what had emanated from the kitchen. Of this the strongest instance was its strenuous upholding of Temple Bar: an ugly structure, but for the keeping up of which people had to pay pretty handsomely. Nor was its sense of smell less impaired, apparently, than that of taste: as was shown especially by the strange degree of fondness it evinced for Smithfield Market, although that place was continually in bad odour.
Throughout its existence, the deceased was extremely subject to fits—of indiscretion—which it is thought materially impaired its constitution. Perhaps the most distressing of these was that which annually recurred on the 9th of November, when it experienced for hours a congestion of its arteries, which seriously impeded its vital circulation. In some of its later paroxysms, the deceased so far forgot itself as to betray a slight attention to the Arts, to which it previously had maintained the most complete indifference—except, indeed, to that which we now see daily advertised as the "Art of Dining."
It is expected that the funeral will take place in the middle of next week, when the Lord Mayor of course will officiate as Chief Mourner. Service will be performed by one of the Sheriffs, whose officers have long discharged that duty. We are not aware that any monument will be erected to the deceased, though a column to its memory will probably be placed in the pages of our contemporaries.