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Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not
used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad
quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are
images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to
keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the
original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain
imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made
available for future generations to enjoy.
In the years between about 1810 and 1840, Edinburgh-long and
affectionately known as 'Auld Reekie'-came to think of itself and
be widely regarded as something else: the city became 'Modern
Athens', an epithet later turned to 'the Athens of the North'. The
phrase is very well-known. It is also much used by those who have
little understanding of the often confused and contradictory
messages hidden within the apparent convenience of a trite or
hackneyed term that conceals a myriad of nuanced meanings. This
book examines the circumstances underlying a remarkable change in
perception of a place and an age. It looks in detail at the 'when',
the 'by whom', the 'why', the 'how', and the 'with what
consequences' of this most interesting, if extremely complex,
transformation of one city into an image-physical or spiritual, or
both-of another. A very broad range of evidence is drawn upon, the
story having not only topographical, artistic, and architectural
dimensions but also social, cerebral, and philosophical ones.
Edinburgh may well have been considered 'Athenian'. But, in
essence, it remained what it had always been. Maybe, however, for a
brief period it was really a sort of hybrid: 'Auld Greekie'.
Things have changed. In 1969 when the Convention for the
Conservation of the Vicuna was drafted, in an attempt to save the
vicuna from its tumbling decline towards extinction, both the
science and the philosophy of wildlife conservation were radically
different. It is thus a tribute to the prescience of those involved
at the time that the rescue plan had, even through the harsh lens
of hindsight, a d- tinctly Twenty First Century flavour. After all,
it was predicated on the expectation that if vicuna could be saved,
they would one day become a valued asset, generating revenue for
the human communities that fostered their survival. Embodied in
this aspiration are the main structures of modern biodiversity
conservation - not only is it to be underpinned by science, but
that science should be of both the natural and the social genres,
woven into inter-disciplinarity, and thereby taking heed of e-
nomics, governance, ownership and the like, alongside biology. In
addition, it should include, as a major strut, the human dimension,
taking account of the affected constituencies with their varied
stakes in alternative outcomes. This c- temporary framework for
thinking about biodiversity conservation is inseparable from such
wider, and inherently political, notions as community-based conser-
tion and ultimately sustainable use."
Things have changed. In 1969 when the Convention for the
Conservation of the Vicuna was drafted, in an attempt to save the
vicuna from its tumbling decline towards extinction, both the
science and the philosophy of wildlife conservation were radically
different. It is thus a tribute to the prescience of those involved
at the time that the rescue plan had, even through the harsh lens
of hindsight, a d- tinctly Twenty First Century flavour. After all,
it was predicated on the expectation that if vicuna could be saved,
they would one day become a valued asset, generating revenue for
the human communities that fostered their survival. Embodied in
this aspiration are the main structures of modern biodiversity
conservation - not only is it to be underpinned by science, but
that science should be of both the natural and the social genres,
woven into inter-disciplinarity, and thereby taking heed of e-
nomics, governance, ownership and the like, alongside biology. In
addition, it should include, as a major strut, the human dimension,
taking account of the affected constituencies with their varied
stakes in alternative outcomes. This c- temporary framework for
thinking about biodiversity conservation is inseparable from such
wider, and inherently political, notions as community-based conser-
tion and ultimately sustainable use.
Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) wrote frequently of his desire to
travel widely in Europe. However, he actually made only three
Continental ventures. Two were to Belgium, Northern France and
Paris. Then, shortly before his death, he at last journeyed to the
Mediterranean, the British Admiralty giving him free passage in a
warship - a notable gesture of concern for the welfare of what
today would be called a 'national treasure'. Scott visited Malta,
and many cities of Italy. His months in Naples and his weeks in
Rome provoked both interest and sadness: most of all they caused
him to reflect from afar on Scotland, the land of his birth, his
mind and his heart. He returned through the Tyrol and German lands,
regions of the Continent he had long wished to see, but which he
could by then barely appreciate. All these European trips are full
of interest for the modern reader. But equally, and almost more so,
are the many other schemes Scott entertained for wider travelling,
notably in the Iberian Peninsula and in Switzerland and Germany. In
this book, all these actual and projected journeys are examined in
the context of the Grand Tour tradition, and also in that of the
new kind of 'romantic' travel that, after 1815, came to succeed
older, prescribed forms. Frolics in the Face of Europe (the phrase
is derived from a letter of Scott's of 1824) draws on his vast
correspondence and his moving journal; on his verse, and his prose
fiction; and on the literature of travel which gave him such a wide
knowledge of the world without even leaving his study in Edinburgh
or his library at Abbotsford. A series of vignettes or
pen-portraits emerges of journeys completed, and voyages merely
dreamed of. Many social, literary and artistic connections are
made; events, places and personalities are linked, often in
surprising ways. Walter Scott emerges as a man with ambiguous ideas
about travel: one who knew that he ought to travel, and to have
travelled more than he did. But he was a writer of profound
imaginative power, whose vicarious travelling allowed him to spend
most of his time where he really wanted to be: in his native
Scotland. This book offers a fresh view of Scott as the 250th
anniversary of his birth approaches.
Irene, beautiful and headstrong, is born in Lambeth, daughter of a
river policeman who served a full career in the army and had boxed
professionally. Her mother spent her working life in domestic
service. Despite being raised in a stable and loving family, Irene
always feels she has been born into the wrong level of society.
When she marries the eldest son of the local vicar, it gives her
the position she has always sought. They appear to be very happy,
but when the war intervenes, with the inevitable long separations,
affections on both sides stray. Separation, tempestuous
relationships and further marriages to unsuitable men steadily
erode Irene's status as the 'Colonel's Lady', furthering her anger
and unhappiness at how her life has devolved. Always in debt and
estranged from her closest family, the base side of her nature
comes to the fore as she struggles to create a successful business
and to regain the admiration and respect in which she was once
held. A novel of ambition and selfish desires, this modern story
has at its centre a beautiful, amoral anti-heroine who readers
cannot help but root for even as they marvel at the rise and
decline of Irene.
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