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 commonplace 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 door; the boys have been making such a noise over their game, and little Jessy, besides, has been singing so sweet a Scotch song to her father--who delights in Scotch and Italian songs, and has taught his musical little daughter some of the best--that the ring at the outer door was not observed.
"Come in," says Mrs. Yorke, in that conscientiously constrained and solemnized voice of hers, which ever modulates itself to a funereal dreariness of tone, though the subject it is exercised upon be but to give orders for the making of a pudding in the kitchen, to bid the boys hang up their caps in the hall, or to call the girls to their sewing--"come in!" And in came Robert Moore.
Moore's habitual gravity, as well as his abstemiousness (for the case of spirit decanters is never ordered up when he pays an evening visit), has so far recommended him to Mrs. Yorke that she has not yet made him the subject of private animadversions with her husband; she has not yet found out that he is hampered by a secret intrigue which prevents him from marrying, or that he is a wolf in sheep's clothing--discoveries which she made at an early date after marriage concerning most of her husband's bachelor friends, and excluded them from her board accordingly; which part of her conduct, indeed, might be said to have its just and sensible as well as its harsh side.

I know not.
Altogether, there is much mental power in those six young Yorke heads, much originality and vigour of brain. Mr. Yorke knows this, and is proud of them. Yorkshire has such families here and there - peculiar, racy, strong and clever; somewhat turbulent and proud, wanting polish, but sound and spirited.
A low tap is heard at the parlour door.
"Come in," says Mrs. Yorke, in her funereal tone. And in comes Robert Moore.
Moore's habitual gravity has recommended him to Mrs. Yorke. She has not yet tried to stop her husband from seeing him; she has not yet found out that Moore is a wolf in sheep's clothing - a discovery which she made soon after marriage about most of her husband's bachelor friends, excluding them from her house accordingly.
