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Trevethlan: A Cornish Story.   By:

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Trevethlan: A Cornish Story by William Davy Watson is a captivating historical fiction novel that transports readers to the rugged cliffs and enchanting villages of Cornwall. The author expertly weaves together a tale of love, betrayal, and redemption set against the backdrop of 19th century England.

The characters come to life on the pages, each with their own struggles and desires that drive the plot forward. From the strong-willed heroine to the anguished hero, readers will find themselves emotionally invested in the fates of these well-developed characters.

The author’s attention to detail in describing the Cornish landscape is impeccable, painting a vivid picture of the rugged beauty and harsh realities of life in this remote corner of England. The cultural and historical references add depth to the story, grounding it in a rich sense of time and place.

Overall, Trevethlan is a compelling read that will appeal to fans of historical fiction and romance. With its engaging plot, well-drawn characters, and evocative setting, this novel is sure to transport readers to a bygone era and keep them turning pages until the very end.

First Page:

TREVETHLAN: A Cornish Story.

BY WILLIAM DAVY WATSON, ESQ., BARRISTER AT LAW.

IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I.

LONDON: SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 1848.

London: Printed by STEWART and MURRAY, Old Bailey.

TREVETHLAN.

CHAPTER I.

"What, am I poor of late? 'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, Must fall out with men too. What the declined is, He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies, Show not their mealy wings but to the summer; And not a man, for being simply man, Hath any honour; but honour for those honours That are without him, as place, riches, favour, Prizes of accident as oft as merit."

SHAKSPEARE.

Late in September, some thirty years ago, Henry Trevethlan lay dying in the state bedchamber of Trevethlan Castle; in Cornwall. It was a large and lofty apartment, indifferently lighted by Gothic casements overlooking the sea, and wearing a gloomy and desolate aspect. Old hangings of tapestry, much faded and worn, covered the walls; the furniture was scanty and inconvenient; the floor was bare, and the dark oak had lost its polish; the very logs in the spacious chimney seemed damped by the cheerlessness of the room, and threw a dull red glare over the prodigious bed, where death was silently counting the few sands yet remaining in the upper half of his hour glass... Continue reading book >>


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