WALTER Scott, unlike Robert Louis Stevenson, had only a limited interest in travelling other than in his mind and imagination. He accumulated volumes which he used to add colour to his narratives, but by temperament and inclination Scott was happier as an imaginary traveller. Observers report seeing him bent over maps in libraries in Abbotsford or in the archives of the Faculty of Advocates, but he was in another part of his mind surprisingly prey to that very British distrust of “abroad”, lands of poor diet and banditry. When he did devise plans to travel abroad, he frequently found reasons for delay.