We had a drenching rain this morning; it had not rained for many weeks (it seldom rains except when testy gentlemen come down in July), but just when Lord Johnny came forward, the heavens poured forth their phials by buckets. The little man, “the widow’s mite,” could not be heard for the sweet acclamations of “O’Connell,” “The tail,” “Cut it short,” “Here’s the Bishop coming.” At every sentence was a chorus, “That’s a new lie.” All Devon was assembled. The Parker mob very noisy and violent, but all yeomen and substantial farmers. Johnny’s crew a sad set, hired at 2/6ᵈ per man. He was supported by Lord Ebrington and Dr. Bowring.
Bulteel proposed Johnny; seconded by Lillifant, a sort of a methodist, a member of the temperance society, which occasioned much fun and cries of “Heavy wet,” “Brandy.” Parker (a dandy-looking youth) was proposed in a loud, bold, and successful speech by Baldwin Fulford, Jr., and seconded in a quieter and gentlemanlike manner by Stafford Northcote (fils, the Wykehamist). By this time I was so wet that I made off for Heavitree, and found my myrtles just washed by a shower, etc.
I dined yesterday with all the Rads, and sat next to Dr. Bowring. They do not seem over-confident. The Conservatives say that Parker has a numerical majority, as far as promises go, of 700. They say the Rads are spending money by sackfuls in inducing Parkerites not to vote at all.
I dined the other day with Episcopus, who made grateful mention of your Excellency, and rejoices in the prospect of your arrival. So you are in for it, and have nothing to do but to give me notice, when my niggar shall stand at the Ship in Heavitree to conduct you to my house. It is in a rare state of external mortarification; but the interior is tolerable, and there is ample accommodation for man and beast, master and man, or nags, and plenty of wholesome food for the mind and body.
For the next eighteen months there are but few allusions in Ford’s letters to his literary plans, and still fewer to politics. Heavitree was the absorbing occupation of his life.
“Since you have been gone” (he writes to Addington, June 21st, 1833), “I have laid the axe to the foot of the trees, and have cut down some twenty apples in my orchard, which has let in a great deal of light and sun, and rejoiced the green grass below. The weather delicious; thermometer 79 in the shade. I sit under my drooping elm and cock up my head when I read the works of Socrates, Plato, and Lady Morgan.
“‘Les deux tiers de ma vie sont écoulés. Pourquoi m’inquieter sur ce qui m’en reste? La plus brillante fortune ne mérite point les tourments que l’on se donne. Le meilleur de tous les biens, s’il y a des biens, c’est le repos, la retraite, et un endroit qui soit sa domaine.’ There’s a black cat for your Excellency to swallow!”
Beyond his cob walls Ford scarcely cared, even in mind, to travel. But in the affairs of his friends he was still deeply interested, and especially in the marriages of Lord King and of Addington. On July 8th, 1835, Lord King (cr. 1838 Earl of Lovelace) was married to Augusta Ada, only daughter of Byron.
“The Baron’s bride” (he writes in June) “will be worthy of himself in name and fortune. I guessed who she was by his sighs and unpremeditated discoveries. La Bruyère says, ‘In friendship a secret is confided; in love il nous échappe.’ Viva el Amor!”
A few days later Ford returns to the subject: