The donor of this magnificent seat of knowledge for young ladies was a man of “polarity,” of positive and negative action and reaction. He was in fact a typical incarnation and embodiment of a dualism, immortalized by the fertile fancy of Robert Louis Stevenson, in his story of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” While on the one hand he had an apparently irresistible and monomaniacal cunning in robbing his fellow men by monopolizing all the necessities of life, crushing with hellish unscrupulousness all competition in every channel of industry, and strewing his wake with industrial wrecks,—on the other hand he busied himself with the erection of hospitals and churches, and in endowing colleges with a princely liberality, commensurate to his other nature.

Emerson, the philosopher, says “The whole universe is so, and so every one of its parts,” that “an inevitable dualism bisects nature,” each thing being a half and suggesting its complement. As the mammoth Californian redwood tree, which with its towering height looks overpoweringly stupendous when compared with the tiny otaheite orange or dwarf Japanese plant, so was the difference in power of acquisitiveness and possibilities of dispensation between this colossus compared with ordinary mortals.

The real motive of his charity could not be divined; whether it was because, pricked by a guilty conscience, he used this means as a palliative for his sins, or whether he was entirely oblivious of wrong-doing and was prompted only by a frank desire for doing good, was never determined. But at any rate after his death it was found that he had donated his palaces, with munificent endowment funds, to establish this educational institution for females. Moreover, it is not my intention to write a biography of this dual monster of money-maniac and philanthropist, for his deeds are written on the graves and sorrowing hearts of his victims, as well as in the grateful remembrance and esteem of his beneficiaries.

Besides, we are told that God works good even through the agency of the devil, and if he really had been a satellite of Satan, the great usefulness and wide influence for good of the Seminary demonstrated the veracity of the above statement.

The Diana Seminary had proven its right to its high place in the public esteem. Its fame had reached every corner of the earth. Young women, not only from America but from every clime and nation, flocked thither seeking to perfect themselves in such branches of education as are the necessary requirements of the fair sex to fit them to reign supreme in any capacity, from teaching in a country school to presiding on regal thrones and guiding the destinies of Nations.

The Diana Seminary had become particularly famous for the especial branches of a curriculum which rendered the young ladies magnificently lovely in form, chic in habilaments, brilliant and vivacious in conversation, serene and dignified in carriage, sweet and optimistic in nature, pure in sentiments, and in addition conferred upon them all the necessary qualifications of accomplished housewives, virtues all of which are inherent in American women and susceptible of highest development.

The graduates of this Seminary were always eagerly sought in marriage, not only by the deserving young men living near the college, but also by the nobility and even the royalty of Europe. The demands of the latter class were indeed so great as to alarm the fond parents across the ocean for the future happiness of their daughters, and they were thus compelled to send their beloved ones to this Institution in order to acquire that polish which their American sisters had proven so desirable.

Amongst the many English maidens who were there matriculated was beautiful Aurora Cunningham, the only daughter of the Secretary of Foreign affairs of Great Britain.

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the beauty and charms of Aurora. It is true that she could not be compared with the Goddesses of ancient Greece, nor did she resemble the bewitching sylvan nymphs depicted by the brush and pen of masters of art. She was a mortal; suffice it to say, that she was a graceful girl of exquisitely moulded form, of medium height, with luxuriant golden tresses, which, shimmering in the sunlight, justified her baptismal name. Her large, dreamy blue eyes mirrored the purity of her soul, and the dimples on her cheeks were so deep and alluring that all who looked upon them felt their compelling charm.

She was, in a word, a typical English maiden. Highly accomplished, and though dainty in demeanor, nevertheless she was not one of those frail, ailing butterflies who exist and thrive only in artificial atmosphere. Having been reared with greatest care, by means of a complete course of calisthenics and out-of-door sports, with all her refined mien she was a hardy and healthy specimen of feminine beauty as well as a leader in all the strenuous pastimes of the Diana Seminary.