Other editions of book Rob Roy

You have requested me, my dear friend, to bestow some of that leisure, with whichProvidence has blessed the decline of my life, in registering the hazards and difficultieswhich attended its commencement. The recollection of those adventures, as you arepleased to term them, has indeed left upon my mind a chequered and varied feeling ofpleasure and of pain, mingled, I trust, with no slight gratitude and veneration to theDisposer of human events, who guided my early course through much risk and labour, thatthe ease with which he has blessed my prolonged life might seem softer from remembranceand contrast. Neither is it possible for me to doubt, what you have often affirmed, that theincidents which befell me among a people singularly primitive in their government andmanners, have something interesting and attractive for those who love to hear an old man'sstories of a past age.Still, however, you must remember, that the tale told by one friend, and listened to byanother, loses half its charms when committed to paper; and that the narratives to whichyou have attended with interest, as heard from the voice of him to whom they occurred,will appear less deserving of attention when perused in the seclusion of your study. Butyour greener age and robust constitution promise longer life than will, in all humanprobability, be the lot of your friend. Throw, then, these sheets into some secret drawer ofyour escritoire till we are separated from each other's society by an event which mayhappen at any moment, and which must happen within the course of a few—a very fewyears. When we are parted in this world, to meet, I hope, in a better, you will, I am wellaware, cherish more than it deserves the memory of your departed friend, and will find inthose details which I am now to commit to paper, matter for melancholy, but notunpleasing reflection. Others bequeath to the confidants of their bosom portraits of theirexternal features—I put into your hands a faithful transcript of my thoughts and feelings, ofmy virtues and of my failings, with the assured hope, that the follies and headstrongimpetuosity of my youth will meet the same kind construction and forgiveness which haveso often attended the faults of my matured age.

You have requested me, my dear friend, to bestow some of that leisure, with whichProvidence has blessed the decline of my life, in registering the hazards and difficultieswhich attended its commencement. The recollection of those adventures, as you arepleased to term them, has indeed left upon my mind a chequered and varied feeling ofpleasure and of pain, mingled, I trust, with no slight gratitude and veneration to theDisposer of human events, who guided my early course through much risk and labour, thatthe ease with which he has blessed my prolonged life might seem softer from remembranceand contrast. Neither is it possible for me to doubt, what you have often affirmed, that theincidents which befell me among a people singularly primitive in their government andmanners, have something interesting and attractive for those who love to hear an old man'sstories of a past age.Still, however, you must remember, that the tale told by one friend, and listened to byanother, loses half its charms when committed to paper; and that the narratives to whichyou have attended with interest, as heard from the voice of him to whom they occurred,will appear less deserving of attention when perused in the seclusion of your study. Butyour greener age and robust constitution promise longer life than will, in all humanprobability, be the lot of your friend. Throw, then, these sheets into some secret drawer ofyour escritoire till we are separated from each other's society by an event which mayhappen at any moment, and which must happen within the course of a few—a very fewyears. When we are parted in this world, to meet, I hope, in a better, you will, I am wellaware, cherish more than it deserves the memory of your departed friend, and will find inthose details which I am now to commit to paper, matter for melancholy, but notunpleasing reflection. Others bequeath to the confidants of their bosom portraits of theirexternal features—I put into your hands a faithful transcript of my thoughts and feelings, ofmy virtues and of my failings, with the assured hope, that the follies and headstrongimpetuosity of my youth will meet the same kind construction and forgiveness which haveso often attended the faults of my matured age.

Sir Walter SCOTT (1771-1832), son of Walter Scott, a Writer to the Signet, was born in College Wynd, Edinburgh, educated at Edinburg High School and University, and apprenticed to his father. He spends part of his childhood in the rural Scottish Borders at his paternal grandparents' farm at Sandyknowe. Here he was taught to read by his aunt Jenny, and learned from her the speech patterns and many of the tales and legends that characterised much of his work. He was called to the bar in 1792. At the age of 25 he began to write professionally, translating works from German. His first publication being rhymed versions of ballads by Gottfried August Bürger in 1796. He then published a three-volume set of collected ballads of his adopted home region, The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. In 1820, Scott was created baronet. Scott´s influence as a novelist was incalculable: he established the form of the “Historical Novel”, and the form of the short story with “The Two Drovers” and “The Highland Widow”. He was avidly read and imitated throughout the 19th cent, and there was a revival of interest from European Marxist critics in the 1930´s, who interpreted his works in terms of historicism. Postmodern tastes favoured discontinuous narratives and the introduction of the "first person", yet they were more favourable to his work than Modernist tastes. Scott is now seen as an important innovator and a key figure in the development of Scottish and world literature. “Rob Roy” (1817) The story takes place just before the Jacobite rising of 1715. Frank Osbaldistone, the narrator, quarrels with his father and is sent to stay with an uncle, Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone, in Northumberland. Frank falls in love with Diana Vernon, Sir Hildebrand's niece, whose father has been forced to go into hiding because of his Jacobite sympathies. Several times his path crosses the mysterious and powerful figure Rob Roy MacGregor, known as Rob Roy, an associate of Sir Hildebrand.

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