“Talkin’ of witches and magicianers,” Cried out Jack Saltonstall of Newbury port, “They are the devil’s own parishioners, And I knew one of a peculiar sort, Because he was a sailor—had he been A lawyer, now, it wouldn’t seem so queer: For conjurers ’mong us ain’t often seen, And he was of the kind who ain’t small beer, Possessing cash enough to roll in bliss: However that may be, the story’s _this_.” THE WITCH’S BOX Once when I went upon a trip Likewise to the Southern sea, We had a man upon the ship And a wonderful man was he. A handsomer man I never did spy, At home or in any port; But there was something in his eye Of a most peculiar sort. And all in Trinidado’s port Was a woman fair and rich, With her my messmate did consort, And I heard she was a witch. Her eyes, like his, had a greenish glare, They seemed to be quite of a level, And the general look of the loving pair Was exactly the look of the devil. Now when it was time to up and lift, And the ship must leave the docks, He came aboard with her parting gift, A brown little wooden box. Now this man had hardly a shirt to his back, When he started on this trip, And the mate declared that such a Jack Was a regular shame to the ship. Then this man he winked a dreadful wink, And said to the mate, “I’ll be floored: But I’ve got more clothes in my box, I think, Than all of the men on board.” Now his box was only one foot square, And what was our surprise When he opened it and pulled out a pair Of shirts before our eyes! Next came a hat and a jacket blue, With trousers of the best, For everything was nice and new, And so on with all the rest. And when he was drest, all spick and span, We observed upon our oaths That we didn’t believe even our old man Had got such a suit of clothes. Twenty-four hours arter, I heard him say, And I thought it was very strange: “I never wear my clothes but a day And now it is time to change. “I make you a gift on ’em fair and plain, With a quid of tobacco to boot.” Sayin’ this he opened his box again, And pulled out another new suit. And the same thing happened the very next day, At about the very same bells, He took off his second suit so gay, And gave it to somebody else. So it happened every day again, Till he’d rigged us all from his store; And such a dandy lot of men Were never in a ship before. Then we never had any scrimmages For fear of spilin’ our slops: We looked like the graven images Before the tailors’ shops. But a man named Knox from Edinboro toun, Always took the thing amiss, And often remarked with a doubtful frown: “There is something eereligious in this!” So one day when our friend had opened his box, Before we could prevent, Up behind him came Mr. Knox And dropped in his New Testament.