Litchfield enquirer., 1867-04-11
WHOLE NO. 2236.

"Oh! don't flare up. Idonr mean to mention that little affair with ne. Tn not hard up. You have governments con. tract, Brooks, believe. We'll, welli you'll eucher 'em Good day"
 The stranger, swelling with rage and pale with bewilderment, would see Browne's dainty cane and garments disappear, in doubt whether it was detective or an idiot who had spoken to him.
 One night he took an organ grinders music and monkey, and went down Fourth avenue collecting pence followed by 8 cheering crowd. The monkey at last grew Frightened and attacked the snowman. A ed to inveigle the officer into hotel, turn ed his head with good cheer, and the de. hnquent patrol was summoned before the police board. Artemus appeared and de- tended him, paid both fines and got him 6 days recreation, which he improved by looking into the shadows of the metropo- lis
 To showmen bankrupt artists, and Bohemians, Browne was always lavish and kind. It is to be feared that his money seldom went to worthier charities. He did not believe in philanthropies. He was Q thoughtless fellow, without indignations, long or momentary, and his personal inhu- ence was more for fun than for useful ness.
 He made, by his lectures and writings, probably seventy thousand dollars. It is my belief that his surviving assets will not amount to twenty thousand dollars. Mon- ey came to him unexpectedly, and with too little effort to him, to make him other than . spendthrift. There were open-heartednes in his life, and many of them; but the re- cipients of his bounty were naturally those who had suffered as he had, by aimlessness rather than by poverty. The laughter that he raised never overturned any social or political wrong. It was laughter for laughter's sake. Ht attacked only t he grosser absurdities that were Imaginable in themselves and he loved Mormon quite as much as humanitarian. It is palpable from his letters in Puncb, either that he despised universal suffrage, or was too weak to affirm it; and his life was an easy, roll icking, cosmopolitan selfshness, entirely in keeping with the character he created. He was the best of our humorists, per SC, because there was so little art in his humor. It was incomprehensible and inimitably ridiculous Other men could sting more none could be so broad and odd.
 OeSCluY IS A1uU to 1uOSG men, aUO ArL9~ mus Ward died satisfied. He wrote to MT. Jack Ryder, of Cleveland, two months ago, to this effect:
 ''This is the proudest moment of my life. To have been as we'll appreciated here as at home; to have written for the oldest comic journal in the English language received mention with Jerrold, Hood and Hook; made my picture and pseudonvn as common in London as in New York, and my entertainment great success. is enough for Yours truly, "A WARD"
 In truth, there was little further to hope for. He was slow, infrequent composer, and had no great hopes of authorship. The individuality of his identity as the old snowman was passing away in his own nightly prominence. Criticism, with 8 rare univsrsality of endorsement, had written it's kindest. For ten years he had been the foremost humorist of America His Gen. ter5ainment" had netted him it's most gold en harvest. His body lies close by Tom Hoods, where we who have had so often and so harmless merriment at the exuber- ance of his humors shall fnda new head stone for our pilgrimages, and thinking then over where he lies, shall say:
 "A fellow of infinite jest! of most excell- ent fancy! Where be your gibes now your gambols? your songs? your flashes of m eminent that were wont to set the table on roar? x Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her let her paint an inch thick-to this favor she must come."