"Kind reader did you ever think how much there is in names?
Here we have SMITHS enough to represent many kinds of business while in the trade line we have CURRIERS, TAYLORS, FULLERS, PLUMMERS, SAWYERS and other laboring men, such as GARDINERS who win their bread by the SWETT of their brows. Some are DEARBORN, some not so, some are YOUNG while others are not, many are large, others are SMALL. In case of war a company could easily be raised and furnished with an orderly SARGENT and CHAPLIN. Were you going away for a day it would be well to consult WIGGIN'S almanac as in these days of cyclones a GALE is likely to spring up from the SOUTHARD then veer around to the WEST and knock everything down in a ROWE."
"The again, if you are an expert with rod and line, you can take a few LAMPREY eels, but STURGEON are not plenty again but for a few WEEKS late in the fall, but you are allowed to roam the FORREST and mountain WILDS and HUNT the PARTRIDGE when noon, and then perhaps you may get your eye on a BADGER; he will lead you a lively CHASE through the BRYERS, finally you may succeed in driving him among the BRAKES by the pond. 'Tis said this town abounds with beautiful drives around the KNOWLES and up the HILLS and down the LANES and should your steed tire out and not want to PULCIFER you can take him out and tuck the CUSHING under the seat, HALL the buggy yourself to the nearest farmhouse, trade off the brute for a FARRAR cow, buy a DAVIS churn and start a creamery of your own and do the business up BROWN. You can count off the most you meet as being MORRILL men and good FELLOWS, but never count your chickens before they HATCH for not all men are free from GILE. But taking it for GRANT-ed that you are weary and in need of rest we would advise you to take a good drink of ADAM'S ale from one of the WELLS nearby, fill your CLAY pipe and if tired do not complain for you should well know that those who dance pay the PIPER. But the merry chirp of the cricket in the grass at your feet reminds you that night is fast approaching; you rightly think as you turn the ashes from your pipe that everything earthly disappears like smoke and life is not always a GARLAND of roses."
Finally you find yourself homeward bound, marching to the tune of the SWALLOWS as they homeward fly, being hungry you indulge in a plate of BEANS then down on your knees you PRAY to the good SHEPARD to still love and protect you as in years gone by, when you were nothing but a LADD. After which you turn down the kerosene and retire for the night. But finding yourself too tired to sleep, you lay awake two mortal hours and kick the COTTON all out of the blankets, but when after a time sleep gets the better of you, you are compelled to still further stay awake and listen to the old guinea hen who is perched on the top most rail of the backyard fence singing that everlasting and unending refrain JOE CLARK, JOE CLARK."
The above is taken from an old newspaper clipping-- The clipping itself reports that the author is unknown, but there is no doubt but that he or she was a resident of Belmont. ---Reminiscences of a New Hampshire Town written by Wallace Rhodes.