Books with title Rob Roy: Complete: Large Print

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) was the first English-language author in literary history to have international success during his actual lifetime. His works were celebrated in North America, Australia and Europe. Born in Edinburgh, Scott lived a rather sequestered childhood, stricken with polio and sent to live on his grandparents farm. There, his aunt Jenny not only taught him to read, but influenced his writing forever, influencing the characteristic speech patterns he would write with later on in his life. In 1871, Scott wrote the classic epic "Rob Roy", set in a tumultuous Scotland right before the Jacobite Rising of 1715. The story is a harrowing tale of the fight for justice and a poignant commentary on the social conditions of Scotland during the early 18th century. The novel centers on Frank Osbaldistone, the narrator of the story, who is sent to stay with an uncle, Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone, in Northumberland, and crosses paths several times with the mysterious and powerful figure Robert Roy MacGregor, known as 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.

“Rob Roy” is set in 1715-16, yet it concerns not the conduct of the Jacobite Rising, but the economic and social conditions which gave rise to it. It celebrates the freebooting capitalism of the hero’s father in the City of London, and the actual freebooting of Rob Roy, the “Robin Hood of Scotland, the dread of the wealthy, but the friend of the poor”. And through Baillie Nicol Jarvie, one of Scott’s most lively creations, it explores the delicate balance of generosity and selfish calculation that is required in all successful enterprise.

Francis "Frank" Osbaldistone tells his tale, beginning with his return to his father William's merchant house of Osbaldistone and Tresham in Crane Alley, London, from an apprenticeship in a French associate's business. There, he meets with his business-minded father's anger and disappointment, since he has been more preoccupied with writing poetry than learning the business, much to his father's disgust. William was originally disinherited in favour of his younger brother Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone, who has inherited both the family fortune and the family seat of Osbaldistone Hall instead. William, turned out at the age of his own son, has built a successful business with his trading company in the City and is a dissenter in religion, unlike his brother.