Nearly all of the 'family,' excepting the field hands, had gathered to witness our arrival; but there was no shouting or noisy demonstrations. After we had greeted Mrs. Preston and her two little daughters--her twin roses, as she called them--my host turned to the assembled negroes, and gave each one his hand and a kind word. The hearty 'Lord bress 'ou, good massa,' and 'Glad 'ou's come, massa,' which broke from all of them, would have gladdened the heart of even the bitterest opponent of the peculiar institution. One old woman, whose head was as white as snow, and whose bent form showed great age, sat on a lower step of the porch, surrounded by a cluster of children. Her mistress raised her to her feet as Preston approached; and throwing her trembling arms around his neck, she sobbed out: 'Oh, massa Robert, ole nussy am happy now; she'll neber leff 'ou gwo 'way agin.' Mrs. Preston shortly turned to lead the way into the house. As she did so, I noticed peeping from out the folds of her dress, where she had shyly hid away, a younger child, of strange and wonderful beauty. She had not, like the others, the fair complexion and pure Grecian features of her mother. Her skin was dark, and her hair, which fell in glossy curls over her neck, was as black as the night when the clouds have shut out the stars. Her cheeks seemed two rose leaves thinly sprinkled with snow; her eyes, coals which held a smouldering flame. Her face was one of those caught now and then by the old painters--a thing dreamed of, but seldom seen: the pure expression of an ideal loveliness which is more than human. She seemed some pure, spiritual being, which had left its ethereal home and come to earth to make the world brighter and better by its presence. I reached out my hands to her, and said: 'Come here, my little one. This is one I have not seen, Mrs. Preston.' 'No, sir; we have never taken her North; she is too young yet. Go to the gentleman, my pet.' The child came timidly toward me, and suffered me to lift her in my arms: 'And what is your name, my little one?' 'Selly, sar,' she replied, with the soft, mellow accent, which the planter's children acquire from the negroes. 'What an odd name!' I remarked, 'Yes, sir, it _is_ singular. Her full name is Selma,' replied her mother. 'What! who have we here?' exclaimed Preston, as he turned away from the negroes, and stepped up on the piazza. 'Why, Robert, it's Selly--don't you know your own child?' Preston took the little girl in his arms, and said: 'It's like you, Lucy. No man ever had a wife like mine, Kirke.' 'No one but Mr. Kirke himself, you mean, Robert,' replied the lady, smiling; then she added: 'Selly has been in Newbern for a time, Mr. Preston did not expect to find her at home.' We entered the house, and took seats in the drawing room to await dinner. We had not been there long, when 'Master Joe' burst into the apartment, and rushing up to me, exclaimed: