Whilst my interest in Macintosh’s Travels centres primarily on its contemporary significance and reading, the status of the book as a commodity points to no-less-interesting questions to do with its afterlife (that is to say, with what happened to the book—and to Macintosh’s ideas—when they had lost their contemporary currency). That a market for Travels continued to exist after Macintosh’s death is evidenced not only by its current status as a rare and collectable book, but by its circulation in the nineteenth century.

Advertisement in The Publishers’ Circular (1850).

A classified advertisement placed in the “Books Wanted to Purchase” section of The Publishers’ Circular (1 June 1850) by the London firm Taylor, Walton, and Maberly indicates, for example, that nearly three-quarters of a century after the original publication of Travels, there was a market for it (albeit a market that was somewhat uncertain with regard to the book’s bibliographical specifics). Given that Taylor, Walton, and Maberly was official bookseller and publisher to University College, London, it is possible that the firm had been commissioned in its search for Travels by an academic member of staff at the college. Whatever motivation lay behind the search for Travels in this case, it is yet another suggestive fragment of evidence which helps to illuminate something of the book’s afterlife.

The auction catalogues of library sales are (as I have previously noted) often a useful source in reconstructing the ownership (and inferring the readership) of a particular text. One of the many nineteenth-century auction catalogues in which Macintosh’s Travels was listed for sale was that drawn up in 1823 to dispose of the enormous (20,000-volume) library which William Beckford (1760–1844) had assembled in his equally enormous Fonthill Abbey.

William Beckford (1760–1844).

Beckford’s collection, listed in The valuable library of books in Fonthill Abbey (1823) and sold by the London auctioneer Harry Phillips, included a 1782 first edition of Macintosh’s Travels and a copy of Joseph Price’s critical response.

Whilst it is possible that Beckford purchased these texts at the time of their publication, it seems more probable that these were originally part of the private library of Edward Gibbon (1737–1794)—parliamentarian and author of The history of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire (1776–88)—which was sold to Beckford following Gibbon’s death.

Edward Gibbon (1737–1794).

There are a number of interesting connections between Gibbon and Warren Hastings. Both were alumni of Westminster School and Gibbon was present at Hastings’ parliamentary trial—an event he described as a ‘persecution’, motivated by party politics. Whether or not Gibbon’s sympathy for Hastings was motivated by their shared educational background is unclear. It would clearly be interesting to know, however, what Gibbon thought of Macintosh’s criticism of Hastings (assuming Gibbon was the original owner of the copy of Travels auctioned off in London in 1823).

Lot 2716. A first edition of Macintosh’s “Travels” (1782).

A recent spell of hot weather in London has made it difficult to sleep at night—particularly so last Thursday when the temperature in my attic flat was still 30°C at midnight. Whilst I lay searching for sleep, I wondered quite how Macintosh, raised in the bracing climate of the highlands of Scotland, adapted to life in the tropical warmth of Grenada. Attempting to put my insomnia to profitable purpose, I made a periodic check of rare-book auction sites in an effort to track down a copy of Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa (1782) that might fall within my modest budget. Prices for bound copies of the 1782 first edition from John Murray usually run from £500 to £1,000, way beyond what I could afford. I was, therefore, thrilled when at 1:30 a.m. on Friday morning I spotted a listing at Lawrences for an auction of travel and exploration texts which included a somewhat rough and ready first edition of Travels (lot 2716, estimated at £100–£150).

From the accompanying photograph, it was clear the book was not in the best shape. Presented in its original boards (to which most 18th-century buyers would have added a bespoke binding to match the other texts in their private libraries) it was described in the listing as “a little shaken”. Whether it was the excitement of discovery (or the overwhelming heat of the night) I placed a bid by commission (a handy process that can be done on-line up to an hour before the auction begins). Encouraged by the estimate, I decided to go all out and bid £250 (plus buyer’s premium and eventual postage and packaging) in the hope that this might be enough to secure it. Sadly, however, it sold for £280; I missed out by £30. Although I had bid at the top end of my budget, I suspect that had I been in the auction room itself, the romance and bidding frenzy might have got to me. So, for now, the late-night searching continues.

I am grateful to Deirdre Grieve for alerting me to a new exhibition at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, “How Glasgow Flourished, 1714–1837“, which examines that city’s financial success during the Georgian era.

The exhibition, which runs until 17 August, includes a number of references to William Macintosh’s successful industrialist brother, George. Having not seen the oil painting  of George in the flesh (as it were), I hope to be able to visit the exhibition during its current run.

Bill for the schooling of Master Macintosh (1772). Archives départementales de Vaucluse, 2 E Titres de famille 83, “John Townson / 1768″.

Macintosh was, for much of their early lives, geographically remote from his children: a daughter and at least one son. Although Macintosh’s daughter survived to adulthood and was married, I know very little about his son (indeed, whether there was more than one). Master Macintosh (assuming there was only one) was not referred to in his father’s will, which indicates, sadly, that he was no longer alive at the point at which the will was drafted.

It is clear, however, that Macintosh cared very greatly about the education of his son and paid rather handsomely for it. Macintosh had placed his son under the “tender & conscientious care & guardianship of men of virtue, friendship, & liberality of sentiment” in Britain, in the hope that Master Macintosh might have a stable upbringing and an effective education. Macintosh set out (in a letter to his son from Madras in 1779) his views as to a correct education for a child of his station. They are worth quoting at length:

A knowledge of the Latin is indispensably necessary to give you a true idea of your nature tongue, besides that it is a language universally understood in Europe, although not practiced in conversation. If you were younger (than 11 years) I would wish you to know the rudiments of Greek, because many scientific terms & words of our own language are derived from it; but I despair at this. Every gentleman ought to understand orthography, unexceptionally. To {indecipherable} & distinctly. All the common rules of arithmetic. Book-keeping as practiced by merchants, with double entry. The principles of mathematics. Geography. A just idea of astronomy. The principles of laws. And ancient and modern histories. Indeed, a man of business, cannot be competent without them; otherwise, buy acting without, any fixed principle, he will be continually exposed to errors & impositions, & success can only be the effect of chance. And without them a man in public station, while each successive measure betrays ignorance which will justly expose him to ridicule & contempt, may be misled in that degree that, the security, or at least the prosperity, of the stake may be sapped & endangered. Dancing & fencing are not only graceful, but useful accomplishments; the one enables a man to be at his ease in company, & the other may secure him from insults. Riding, according to rule, has its utility & gracefulness also. It is not possible to convey all the advantages resulting from these qualifications, through the several stages of life, in the circumscribed compass of a letter. I deliver you the texts, & leave the expositions to friends, & to your own heart. Let the latter be your universal monitor.

Macintosh’s habit of keeping detailed financial accounts, as well as invoices and receipts, means that we have some sense about what it cost to educate Master Macintosh. A bill dated July 1772 (above) sets out the principal costs associated with Master Macintosh’s schooling. These included:

• “6 Months board and Instruction” at £10;
• “Board in the Christmas Vacation” at £1 12s.;
• “a Hatt [sic]” at 2s. 9d.;
• “Cutting of Hair & Cleaning of Shoes” at 2s.;
• and “a Spelling Book” at 10d.

Instruction, and the necessities of life, amounted to £15 14s. 6d. for six months.

Macintosh’s concern for his son, and for his education, is evident and touching. His letter from Madras (which runs to more than twenty pages and offers his son a series of life lessons) is both fascinating and deeply moving. My principal task for the summer will be to recommence the systematic transcription of the archival material I was able to photograph in Avignon in 2012, paying particular attention, in the first instance, to the materials relating to Macintosh’s time in the Caribbean.

Audi alteram partem (1770). From the pen of Macintosh?

I have been reading, with great interest, a recently-published article in The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History by a graduate student (Aaron Willis) at the University of Notre Dame: “The standing of new subjects: Grenada and the Protestant constitution after the Treaty of Paris (1763)“.

Willis’s paper concerns the political difficulties which surrounded the incorporation of French Catholics into the British Empire following the ceding of Grenada at the end of the Seven Years’ War. In broad terms, opinion was divided among islanders as to the extent to which political rights which applied to British Protestants should be extended to French Catholics. These divisions resulted in political stalemate which lasted through much of the late 1760s and early 1770s. Willis offers a neat summary of the principal pamphlets which were issued during this period and argued, at turns, for and against the rights of French Catholics.

There is some evidence to suggest that one of these pamphlets—Audi alteram partem (1770)—which Willis describes as being “[t]he most sustained defence of Catholic rights” was co-authored by Macintosh. That, at least, was the opinion of an anonymous reviewer writing in The Political Register (May, 1770) who noted “It is almost needless to add, that Mr. Mackintosh [sic], Col. [James] Johnstone, and Mr. Scott are the Authors of Audi Alteram Partem…and are the agents and abettors of the Romish party there”. Clearly it will require some digging to determine whether or not there is any validity in this claim, or that Macintosh was “known to be zealous in the cause of the Roman Catholic French subjects at Grenada”. I would think, however, the latter is a safe bet.

Lambert, David. Mastering the Niger: James MacQueen’s African geography and the struggle over Atlantic slavery. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013.

I have very much been enjoying David Lambert‘s new monograph, Mastering the Niger, which was published late last year by the University of Chicago Press. David’s book concerns a number of themes, including the production of geographical knowledge, the role of observation and testimony in the making of geographical fact, and the production and evaluation of credibility. His biographical focus is on the Scots Caribbean planter turned Glasgow merchant and businessman, James MacQueen (1778–1870).

Although Macintosh was born a generation earlier than MacQueen, there are a number of interesting parallels between their lives. Both were part of the wave of Scots who took the opportunities afforded by the Act of Union in 1707 to forge their careers in the British Empire; both were planters in Grenada; both had important dealings with Sir William Pulteney (1729–1805); both were skilled and enthusiastic proponents of double-entry bookkeeping. In Macintosh’s case, he had had, from the age of 18, “the highest charge of money, papers, & books of accounts”.

In Mastering the Niger, David offers a fascinating discussion about the parallels between double-entry bookkeeping and processes of geographical inscription and abstraction (see Chapter 3) and between the notion of “balance” and MacQueen’s own ideas about the nature and direction of the British imperial project. The analogy is an exciting and interesting one, not least because it so well captures William Macintosh’s own practices and perspectives in relation to these matters.

As I have mentioned previously, Macintosh was a thorough and committed record keeper (particularly so in relation to financial matters). This concern was not limited to his personal finances, but to those of Grenada, India, and the British Empire more widely. The day-to-day practices of taking account were so significant to Macintosh that he prescribed them in a letter to his son, in which he laid out what he considered the indispensable skills for his son’s life: “I would wish you to know…[a]ll the common rules of arithmetic. Book-keeping as practiced by merchants, with double entry. The principles of mathematics. Geography. A just idea of astronomy. The principles of laws. And ancient and modern histories. Indeed, a man of business, cannot be competent without them”.

Macintosh’s commitment to accounting means that we have a reasonably good insight into his own financial standing at various points in his life. For instance, in 1775 he applied to the Dutch bank Hope and Company (founded by Scots) for a loan of £20,000, and, in so doing, set out his financial position at that point. His collateral, detailed below, was calculated at more than £45,500, comprising plantations (or shares of them), various mortgages and bonds, a number of slaves, his house, and his annual salary of £300 for his role as Comptroller of His Majesty’s Customs for the Port of Grenville in Grenada.

Statement of Macintosh’s collateral in 1775. Archives départementales de Vaucluse, 2 E Titres de famille 84, “Charles Wilson / et autres de Grenade / 1767–1776”. Macintosh to Hope and Co. 15 December 1775.

My fellow HGRG committee member Natalie Cox is currently undertaking a research fellowship at the Huntington Library in California. Natalie was kind enough to call up the Huntington’s copies of Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa to check for indicators of provenance. Both copies of the book contain what appear to be contemporary bookplates, although I will need to dig a little deeper to attribute them properly.

Unidentified Ex Libris. The Huntington Library, call number 355653.

The bookplate in call number 355653 is listed in the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign’s John Starr Stewart Ex Libris Collection, but does not contain an attribution.

John Coore’s Ex Libris. The Huntington Library, call number 357106.

Although the bookplate pasted into call number 357106 makes quite clear that the book belonged to one John Coore, it is not immediately apparent which John Coore this is. One possibility (assuming he was a contemporary owner of the book) is that he is the John Coore who built Ivy House in Golders Hill, where Anna Pavlova (the famous ballerina) later lived. Clearly more digging will have to be done to separate conjecture from likelihood.

Deirdre Grieve at Glasgow Cathedral.

I was fortunate today to meet up in Glasgow with the great, great, great, great grandniece of William Macintosh, Deirdre Grieve, and her son Dorian. Deirdre has for some time been interested in William Macintosh, from whose sister she is descended, and has done some fantastic genealogical research. Deirdre, Dorian, and I were able to share some snippets and stories before visiting the grave of William’s brother, George, and George’s son Charles (the eponymous inventor of the Macintosh waterproofing process), in the grounds of Glasgow Cathedral.

George Macintosh (1739–1807). Glasgow Museums.

George Macintosh was a successful industrialist who owned a large cudbear dying works in Glasgow, which operated for more than three quarters of a century from the 1770s. George and his wife, Mary (née Moore), are commemorated on their son’s gravestone. The inscription reads

Here is interred,
Charles Macintosh.
Of
Campsie, and Dunchattan.
And Fellow of the
Royal Society of London.
Son of George Macintosh,
and Mary Moore,
both also here interred,
and the great grandson
of the last Provost
John Anderson of Douhill.
Born 1766. Died, 1843.

Deirdre’s neighbour, who joined us later to chat about William Macintosh, is Nigel Leask, Regius Chair of English Language and Literature at the University of Glasgow.

Georges Cuvier (1769–1832).

For historians of science, the French naturalist George Cuvier has an almost totemic significance: straddling the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries like a scientific Colossus of Rhodes. It was particularly interesting, therefore, to discover on Monday that Cuvier owned a copy of Macintosh’s Travels (in its second Paris edition, 1788). It seems rather unlikely that Cuvier purchased his copy at the time of its publication—he was then nineteen, and working as a private tutor in Normandy. A more intriguing possibility is that he acquired the book at some point after his arrival in Paris in 1796, a circumstance which would indicate that Macintosh’s book retained value and currency more than a decade after its initial French publication. All of this will remain speculation, of course, until I can examine Cuvier’s copy of Travels which is housed at the Bibliothèque Centrale du Muséum nation d’Histoire in Paris.