His were early disciplined by our dear mother, and he bettered her teaching.

Strong for the weak, wise for the foolish--tender for the hard--gracious for the surly--good for the evil.

Oh, my brother, without fear and without reproach! Speak across the grave, and tell your sister's son that vice and cowardice become alike impossible to a man who has never--cradled in selfishness, and made callous by custom--learned to pamper himself at the expense of others!" I waited a little before I asked-- "Were you with him when he died ?" "I was." "Poor Uncle Patrick! What _did_ you do ?" He pegged away to the sofa, and threw himself on it.
"Played the fool.

Broke an arm and a thigh, and damaged my spine, and--_lived_.

Here rest the mortal remains." And for the next ten minutes, he mocked himself, as he only can.
* * * * * One does not like to be outdone by an uncle, even by such an uncle; but it is not very easy to learn to live like Godfather Bayard.
Sometimes I wish my grandmother had not brought up her sons to such a very high pitch, and sometimes I wish my mother had let that unlucky name become extinct in the family, or that I might adopt my nickname.
One could live up to _Backyard_ easily enough.