The landlord of this inn, Colonel Israel Hatch, was also a man of importance in his time, who enjoyed an enviable reputation for military achievements, and was very prominent in public affairs.  At no point on the line was the traveler surer of a larger hospitality or a heartier welcome than was extended by Colonel Hatch, though its best room, which was reserved for visitors of note, might not have contained the veritable inscription ascribed to Major Molineaux:—­

  “What do you think? 
  Here is good drink. 
  Perhaps you may not know it;
  If not in haste, do stop and taste;
  You merry folks will show it.”

On leaving North Attlebourogh, the remaining twelve miles to Providence were conveniently relieved by short halts at Bishop’s and at Barrow’s Taverns in Attleborough “City” and West Attleborough, and at one or two places in Pawtucket, so that no passenger was compelled to go hungry or dry for many miles.

By far the most noted passenger ever conveyed over the Norfolk and Bristol road, and there were many worthy of mention, is reputed to have been President James Monroe, who shortly after his inauguration in March, 1817, made a tour through the New England States, similar to that made by President Hayes in 1877.  The occasion was a great one, for Monroe and his party left Providence in the morning, halted at Hatch’s for lunch, dined at Polley’s, and were met on their arrival at Dedham by a delegation from Boston who escorted them to the “Hub of the Universe.”  Great was the curiosity of the country-folk to behold a president, and the streets through which his barouche was to pass were thronged with an eager, expectant multitude, who greeted him with cheers, and were rewarded with a gracious bow.  And one little boy, now a venerable and honored member of the Bristol County bar, was standing with his father in an open farm wagon, when the President alighted at North Attleborough, and exclaimed with evident disappointment:  “Why, father, he’s no bigger than any other man!”

* * * * *

Dungeon rock, Lynn.

By frank P. Harriman.

All over the land there are localities to which, in some way or other, have become attached names that indicate something of the supernatural, or such as are intended to excite apprehension.  What stout heart does not stand dismayed before a real dungeon?  A prison under ground is something awful to contemplate.  Whose hair does not stand on end at the thought of possible confinement in a dark, damp, cold stone prison-house, with rusty-hinged or even sealed doors, where no window opens to the light of day; where no friendly voice is ever heard; where liberation is impossible, and where, cursed with the remainder of life, one is doomed to a miserable existence till the mortal and the immortal separate?  Deliver us from such terrors as these!

In visiting Dungeon Rock, however, like most places of a similar character, we find there is no especial reason for fear, notwithstanding the indicative name, and the many blood-curdling traditions connected therewith.