Often the editor wrote and printed letters to himself, either to emphasize some truth or to give him the opportunity to ridicule some folly in a reply to "Alice Addertongue," "Anthony Afterwit," or other mythical but none the less typical person. If the countryman did not read a newspaper, or buy books, he was, at any rate, sure to own an almanac.
So now, when all was lost, I fell to kneading out this sodden dough of afterwit with Ephraim Yeates; but when I sought to carry off the blame as mine by right, the old borderer would not give me leave. "Fair and easy, Cap'n John; fair and easy," he protested. "Let's give that old sarpent, which is the devil and Satan, his dues.
He spat blank. Forgot: any more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. And left the femme de trente ans. And why no other children born? And his first child a girl? Afterwit. Go back. Eh... I just eh... wanted... I forgot... he... Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there...
Word Of The Day