A Rally 
willing to listen. It was like a reading in George 
Borrow, only far more vivid, more intimate, 
more homely. Above all, it betrayed none of 
the acrimony that is to be found in Borrow, 
none of the dissatisfaction. For example, in the 
Romany Rye the roads all seem dusty, the country 
folk for the most part hard, mean, selfish. But, 
in my uncle’s memories, early Victorian England 
was a happy place on the whole, even if now and 
then, as though from a great distance, came 
sounds of hardship and struggle. The people 
appeared to mean well and to enjoy life; and 
the country things were pleasant to think about 
—pleasant as old china—when recalled in John 
Smith’s quiet tones. 
It occurred to me once that he was one of 
the very few men I had known who could be 
truly said to have made a success of the art of 
living. He had achieved it not consciously or 
intentionally so much as by adhering to the old- 
fashioned rural traditions of good behaviour ; 
being patient, cheerful, neighbourly, and keep- 
ing close in touch with natural things. Few, 
nowadays, know rural life as he knew it. He 
was indeed no peasant, though almost poor 
enough; but a century earlier he would have 
beena yeoman. ‘The country—its materials, soil, 
weather, animals, people—with all these he had 
worked; not as a stranger, not as an aloof 
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