twenty, he will
wonder why people ever laugh, and think all fools who seem merry. Poetry will
not exist for Mark, either in literature or in life; its best effusions will
sound to him mere rant and jargon: enthusiasm will be his aversion and contempt.
Mark will have no youth: while he looks juvenile and blooming, he will be
already middle-aged in mind. His body is now fourteen years of age, but his soul
is already thirty.
    Martin, the youngest of the three, owns another nature. Life may, or may
not, be brief for him; but it will certainly be brilliant: he will pass through
all its illusions, half believe in them, wholly enjoy them, then outlive them.
That boy is not handsome - not so handsome as either of his brothers: he is
plain; there is a husk upon him, a dry shell, and he will wear it till he is
near twenty; then he will put it off: about that period, he will make himself
handsome. He will wear uncouth manners till that age, perhaps homely garments;
but the chrysalis will retain the power of transfiguring itself into the
butterfly, and such transfiguration will, in due season, take place. For a
space, he will be vain, probably a downright puppy, eager for pleasure, and
desirous of admiration; athirst, too, for knowledge. He will want all that the
world can give him, both of enjoyment and lore; he will, perhaps, take deep
draughts at each fount. That thirst satisfied - what next? I know not. Martin
might be a remarkable man: whether he will or not, the seer is powerless to
predict: on that subject, there has been no open vision.
    Take Mr. Yorke's family in the aggregate, there is as much mental power in
those six young heads, as much originality, as much activity and vigour of
brain, as - divided amongst half a dozen common-place broods - would give to
each rather more than an average amount of sense and capacity. Mr. Yorke knows
this, and is proud of his race. Yorkshire has such families here and there
amongst her hills and wolds - peculiar, racy, vigorous; of good blood and strong
brain; turbulent somewhat in the pride of their strength, and intractable in the
force of their native powers; wanting polish, wanting consideration, wanting
docility, but sound, spirited, and true-bred as the eagle on the cliff or the
steed in the steppe.
    A low tap is heard at the parlour