Two remarkable coincidences have occurred in connection with Middle street. In the early part of the 18th century one of the Bryant family kept a tavern on the corner of Main and Middle streets, which is called on the records Bryant’s tavern, and in 1834 Danville Bryant kept a tavern on the same site. The other coincidence relates to the third Parish, which was established in Middle street, and built a meeting house in 1744, where the house occupied by Mr. Frink now stands. Rev. Thomas Frink of Rutland, Vt., was settled as its pastor, and more than a hundred years later our present townsman, bearing the same name, came to Plymouth, and now lives on the same site. These coincidences are constantly occurring as if men were mere puppets following unconsciously certain predestined lines. When the Plymouth Woolen Mill went into operation about 1865, a Scotchman by the name of Fernside was employed as a wool sorter. After the manufacture of flannels was abandoned he bought and settled on land in Duxbury, which a man of the same name occupied more than two hundred years before. A story of what perhaps may be called a coincidence, was told me by our townsman Wm. Burns. He came from Scotland, and on his arrival between 1850 and 1860, was employed in the Cordage Company’s store at Seaside. One day a man drove up to the store, and as he alighted, Mr. Burns said to him, “Good morning, Mr. Glass,—when did you come over?” “What do you mean by coming over?” replied the man. “Why, from Scotland,” said Mr. Burns. “I never was in Scotland, my ancestors have lived in Duxbury since about 1640.” “Is not your name Glass?” continued Mr. Burns. “Yes,” said the man. “Why, I thought you were Mr. Glass, a neighbor of mine in Scotland,” said Mr. Burns. This may, however, not have been a coincidence, but a remarkable perpetuation of a family type. I have had in my own experience more than one illustration of the descent of family types, through many generations, one of which recently occurred. A stranger met me in the street and asked me if I was Mr. Davis. I said, “Yes, and your name is Howland.” “How do you know that?” he asked, “I have never seen you before.” I said, “I know by your hand with its web fingers,” instances of which I have known in five generations of the family of Henry Howland, one of the early members of the Plymouth Colony. It is true that he might have descended from a female Howland, and thus borne another name, but I was right in calling him by that name.