Scowton, who had been absent from Bartholomew Fair for several years, made a final appearance there in 1837, when his bills contained the following announcement:-- "Mr. SCOWTON, deeply impressed with heartfelt gratitude for the liberal Patronage and Support which he has for a series of Years experienced from his Friends and a Generous Public, and which will enable him to spend his future Days in comfortable Retirement: begs leave to announce that the whole of his Extensive Concern, is to be disposed of by Private Contract; and, therefore, at the same time, as he takes leave, requests them to believe that the Memory of their favours and indulgence will never be eradicated from his Memory." Richardson's theatre stood beside Scowton's, and it is remarked by a newspaper of the time that "the former displayed the trappings of modern grandeur, and the latter evinced his taste for the ancient by exposing to view a couple of centaurs and a sphynx." Scowton presented a "new grand dramatic romance," called _The Treacherous Friend_, in which he played the character of Alphonsus himself. This was the last appearance of both these veteran showmen. Scowton retired, and Richardson died shortly afterwards at his cottage in Horsemonger Lane, and was buried, as his will directed, at Great Marlow, in the same grave with the spotted boy. He bequeathed the greater part of his property to Charles Reed, who had travelled with him for many years; his old friend, Johnson, afterwards co-lessee with Nelson Lee of the City of London Theatre, received a legacy of five hundred pounds, and Davy, who had superintended the building and removal of the theatre from the beginning of its existence, two hundred pounds. Looking backward forty years, I can recall the quaint figure of the old showman as he stood on the steps of his portable theatre, clad in a loose drab coat and a long scarlet vest, which looked as if it had been made in the reign of George II. As I think of Croydon Fair as it used to be in Richardson's days, with the show standing between Clarke's circus and Wombwell's menagerie, I can almost fancy that I hear the booming of the old man's gong. Many a time afterwards have I seen Nelson Lee beating that memorable instrument of discord, and heard him shouting, "Walk up! walk up! Just going to begin!" But _he_ wore a suit of black, and did not impress me half so much as his predecessor. The change seemed, indeed, a symptom of the declining glory of the fair, which has, within the last few years, become a thing of the past. CHAPTER XI.