“Monsieur le Tailleur--'Tin Mr. W----, from Cork Street, come to exhibit his Spring patterns, and turn us out with the new cut--so pray remain where you are.” “Tailor--decorator,” said Bob--“Egad! the idea is almost as ridiculous as the representation of the taylor riding to Brentford.” By this time the door was opened, and Mr. W. entered, making his bow with the precision of a dancing-master, and was followed by a servant with pattern-books, the other apparatus of his trade. The first salutations over, large pattern-books were displayed upon the table, exhibiting to view a variety of fancy-coloured cloths, and measures taken accordingly. During which time, Tom, as on the former occasion, continued his enquiries relative to the occurrences in the fashionable world. “Rather tame, Sir, at present: the Queen's unexpected visit to the two theatres was for a time a matter of surprise--the backwardness of Drury Lane managers to produce 'God Save the King,' has been construed into disloyalty to the Sovereign--and a laughable circumstance took place on his going to the same house a few nights back, which has already been made the subject of much merriment, both in conversation and caricature. It appears that Mr. Gloss'em, who is a _shining character_ in the theatrical world, at least among the minors of the metropolis; and whose father was for many years a wax-chandler in the neighbourhood of Soho, holds a situation as clerk of the cheque to the Gentlemen Pensioners of his Majesty's household, as well as that of Major Domo, manager and proprietor of a certain theatre, not half a mile from Waterloo Bridge. ~60~~A part of his duty in the former capacity is to attend occasionally upon the person of the King, as one of the appendages of Royalty; in which _character_ he appeared on the night in question. The servants of the attendants who were in waiting for their masters, had a room appropriated to their use. One of these latter gentry, no other than Gloss'em's servant, being anxious to have as near a view of the sacred person of his Majesty as his employer, had placed himself in a good situation at the door, in order to witness his departure, when a Mr. Winpebble, of mismanaging notoriety, and also a ponderous puff, assuming managerial authority, espying him, desired the police-officers and guards in attendance to turn out the lamp-lighter's boy, pointing to Gloss'em's servant. This, it seems, was no sooner said than done, at the point of the bayonet. Some little scuffle ensued--His Majesty and suite departed--Hold up your arm, Sir.” “But did the matter end there?” enquired Dashall. “O dear, no--not exactly.” “Because if it did,” continued Tom, “in my opinion, it began with a wax taper, and ended in the smoke of a farthing rushlight. You have made it appear to be a gas-receiver without supplies.” “I beg pardon,” said Mr. W.; “the pipes are full, but the gas is not yet turned on.” This created a laugh, and Mr. W. proceeded:--