Of her favourite ‘coppies’ she shan’t possess one.”
From that day forward, madam was always afflicted. The doctor from Penzance could do little for her. The fowls’ eggs were always bad; the hens died, and madam lost all her “coppies.” This is the way it came about—in the place of cops the brains came out—and all by the spells of old Joan.
This forms the subject of one of the old Cornish drolls, which ran in an irregular jingle, such as the above, and was half sung, half said by the droll-teller.
THE WITCH OF TREVA.
Once on a time, long ago, there lived at Treva, a hamlet in Zennor, a wonderful old lady deeply skilled in necromancy. Her charms, spells, and dark incantations made her the terror of the neighbourhood. However, this old lady failed to impress her husband with any belief in her supernatural powers, nor did he fail to proclaim his unbelief aloud.
One day this sceptic came home to dinner and found, being exceedingly hungry, to his bitter disappointment, that not only was there no dinner to eat, but that there was no meat in the house. His rage was great, but all he could get from his wife was, “I couldn’t get meat out of the stones, could I?” It was in vain to give the reins to passion, the old woman told him, and he must know “that hard words buttered no parsnips.” Well, at length he resolved to put his wife’s powers to the proof, and he quietly but determinedly told her that he would be the death of her if she did not get him some dinner; but if in half an hour she gave him some good cooked meat, he would believe all she had boasted of her power, and be submissive to her for ever. St Ives, the nearest market-town, was five miles off; but nothing doubting, the witch put on her bonnet and cloak, and started. Her husband watched her from their cottage door, down the hill, and at the bottom of the hill he saw his wife quietly place herself on the ground and disappear. In her place a fine hare ran on at its full speed.
He was not a little startled, but he waited, and within the half hour in walked his wife with “good flesh and taties all ready for aiting.” There was no longer any doubt, and the poor husband lived in fear of the witch of Treva to the day of her death.
This event took place after a few years, and it is said the room was full of evil spirits, and that the old woman’s skrieks were awful to hear. Howbeit, peace in the shape of pale-faced death came to her at last, and then a black cloud rested over the house when all the heavens were clear and blue.
She was borne to the grave by six aged men, carried, as is the custom, under hand. When they were about half way between the house and the church, a hare started from the roadside and leaped over the coffin. The terrified bearers let the corpse fall to the ground, and ran away. Another lot of men took up the coffin and proceeded. They had not gone far when puss was suddenly seen seated on the coffin, and again the coffin was abandoned. After long consultation, and being persuaded by the parson to carry the old woman very quickly into the churchyard, while he walked before, six others made the attempt, and as the parson never ceased to repeat the Lord’s Prayer, all went on quietly. Arrived at the church stile, they rested the corpse, the parson paused to commence the ordinary burial service, and there stood the hare, which, as soon as the clergyman began “I am the resurrection and the life,” uttered a diabolical howl, changed into a black, unshapen creature, and disappeared.