knowledge has to a degree shorn him of his strength. And to such an extent
is this true, that within forty years it has passed into a common proverb
that the sons of clergymen are rascals, whereas in Colonial days the
highest recommendation a youth could carry was that he was the son of a
minister.

The Reverend John Hancock, grandfather of John Hancock the patriot, was
for more than half a century the minister of Lexington, Massachusetts. I
say "the minister," because there was only one: the keen competition of
sect that establishes half a dozen preachers in a small community is a
very modern innovation.

John Hancock, "Bishop of Lexington," was a man of pronounced personality,
as is plainly seen in his portrait in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. They
say he ruled the town with a rod of iron; and when the young men, who
adorned the front steps of the meetinghouse during service, grew
disorderly, he stopped in his prayer, and going outside soundly cuffed the
ears of the first delinquent he could lay hands upon. In his clay there
was a dash of facetiousness that saved him from excess, supplying a useful
check to his zeal--for zeal uncurbed is very bad. He was a wise and
beneficent dictator; and government under such a one can not be improved
upon. His manner was gracious, frank and open, and such was the specific
gravity of his nature that his words carried weight, and his wish was
sufficient.

The house where this fine old autocrat lived and reigned is standing in
Lexington now. When you walk out through Cambridge and Arlington on your
way to Concord, following the road the British took on their way out to
Concord, you will pass by it. It is a good place to stop and rest. You
will know the place by the tablet in front, on which is the legend: "Here