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.