In 1856 she became the wife of Rev. Edward P. Terhune, afterwards pastor of the Puritan Congregational Church in Brooklyn, where in recent years they have lived. Mrs. Terhune has always been active in charitable and church work, and has done an amount of writing equal to that of the most prolific authors. She has been editor or conducted departments of two or three different magazines and established and successfully edited the “Home Maker.” Some of her most noted stories are “The Hidden Path;” “True as Steel;” “Husbands and Homes;” “Phemie’s Temptation;” “Ruby’s Husband;” “Handicap;” “Judith;” “A Gallant Fight;” and “His Great Self.” Besides these books and a number of others, she has written almost countless essays on household and other topics. Her book, “Eve’s Daughters,” is a standard work of counsel to girls and young women. She takes an active part in the literary and philanthropic organizations of New York City, and has been prominent in the Woman’s Councils held under the auspices of a Chautauquan association. She was the first to call attention to the dilapidated condition of the grave of Mary Washington and started a movement to put the monument in proper condition. For the benefit of this movement, she wrote and published “The Story of ♦Mary Washington.” ♦ Title truncated in text. * * * * * A MANLY HERO.¹ (FROM “A GALLANT FIGHT.”) ¹ Copyright, Dodd, Mead & Co. AFTER donning velvet jacket and slippers he sat down, and, lighting his cigar, leaned back to watch the fire and dream of Salome and their real home. Not until the weed was half consumed did he observe an envelope on the table at his elbow. It was sealed and addressed to him in a “back-hand” he did not recognize: “_In the Library. Nine O’clock, P. M._ “MY OWN LOVE――You say in your letter (burned as soon as I had committed the contents to memory) that I must never call you that again. There is a higher law than that of man’s appointment, binding our hearts together, stronger even than that of your sweet, wise lips. Until you are actually married to the man whom you confess you do not love, you will, according to that divine law, be my own Marion――” With a violent start, the young man shook the sheet from his fingers as he would a serpent. This was what he had promised not to read, or so much as to touch! The veins stood out high and dark on his forehead; he drew in the air hissingly. Had a basilisk uncoiled from his bosom and thrust a forked tongue in his face the shock would not have been greater. This was “the letter written to Marion!” He had thrown away six of the best years of his life upon the woman whom another man called his “own love;” the man to whom she had confessed that she did not love her betrothed husband! Who was he?