Mr. Moore had also certain reminiscences about the trials of his revered mother. A good mother she had been to him, and he honoured her memory; but he recollected that she kept a hot kitchen of it in Antwerp, just as his faithful sister did here in England. Thus, therefore, he let the subject drop, and when the coffee-service was removed, proceeded to console Hortense by fetching her music-book and guitar; and having arranged the ribbon of the instrument round her neck with a quiet fraternal kindness he knew to be all-powerful in soothing her most ruffled moods, he asked her to give him some of their mother's favourite songs.
Nothing refines like affection. Family jarring vulgarizes; family union elevates. Hortense, pleased with her brother, and grateful to him, looked, as she touched her guitar, almost graceful, almost handsome; her everyday fretful look was gone for a moment, and was replaced by a "sourire plein de bont." She sang the songs he asked for, with feeling; they reminded her of a parent to whom she had been truly attached; they reminded her of her young days. She observed, too, that Caroline listened with nave interest; this augmented her good-humour; and the exclamation at the close of the song, "I wish I could sing and play like Hortense!" achieved the business, and rendered her charming for the evening.

Mr. Moore recalled his good mother's kitchen in Antwerp, and let the subject drop. He consoled Hortense by fetching her guitar, and asking her to play some of their mother's favourite songs.
Hortense, pleased, looked almost graceful, almost handsome; as she played, her everyday fretful look was gone. She sang with feeling. Seeing that Caroline listened with interest, this increased her good-humour. Caroline's exclamation at the close of the song, "I wish I could sing and play like Hortense!" rendered her charming for the evening.
