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OWN in the heart of Old Kentucky, the Dark and Bloody Ground of history, scone of the exploits of the immortal Daniel Boone, was born, November 13, 1814, the brown-eyed, brown-haired maiden whose name heads this sketch, and who became the wife of Rev. Clinton Kelly. Her father, John Crain, came of an ancient English house that traces its lineage back through Charlemagne, some hundreds of years prior to the Christian era; Sarah Rousseau, her mother, descended from Hilare Rousseau, a Huguenot, who, upon the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, sought refuge in America from the persecutions of a bigoted monarchy.

John Crain went from Virginia to the wilds of Kentucky in the latter part of the eighteenth century, and settled in Pulaski County, and there, with the help of his negro slaves, cleared a space in the' forest and made for himself and family a comfortable home.

Moriah, the seventh child, dearly loved her native woods and streams; and, growing up in the pure, free air of the forest, drinking its balm and listening to its many voices, she rounded into a sturdy little woman, of fine, sensitive nature, timid almost to shyness. Being the youngest, she was shielded from much that we should call hardship, the negro women declaring that "Miss M'riah" must not "go fer to spile her hands" with such work as they deemed drudgery, fit only for themselves. Simon Peter, an elfish little lilack boy, was Moriah 's special property, and well might he look to his ways, for his young mistress would tolerate no habits of trifling.

But there were no drones in the Crain household. The young woman of that day must have a well-wrought samplar of her own handiwork, and know all the intermediate steps of needle work, to the cutting and making of coats and the queer, apron-front "pantaloons" worn by her father and brothers. Spinning, weaving and knitting were in the course of lessons to be mastered under the watchful eye of the frugal mother, who well knew the value of such a dowry to her daughters.

Up and down the spinning-room sped Moriah's light feet, her deft fingers drawing out the long threads from the spindle, the while a clear young voice sang snatches of "Corydon, ""Come, My Beloved, Haste Away," or some other quaint melody of the time, fragments of which floated off to the kitchen where Aunt Nelly, busy with culinary affairs, would stop in her work, and, turning her homely face toward the "house," ejaculate: "De Lawd bless dat chile!" Many a day saw a pair of warm socks knit by her busy fingers that in the morning had been crude wool; and once, on a wager, two pairs were the result of one day's work. Perhaps it was "weaving day," for the family, as well as the slaves, must be clothed mainly from the flocks in father Grain's pasture; or garments were to be made when sewing machines were unknown, or housework to be done; but there were ever the willing hands and the clear singing.

So passed happy days, filled with useful activities, their healthful quiet varied by neighborhood husking-bees, spelling matches, etc., where the young folks had their share of fun and frolic.

But the womanly heart was untouched until there came a-wooing to the home on Pitman Creek a stalwart circuit-rider, Clinton Kelly, to whose manly advances there was speedy surrender, and Moriah Crain went out from a tenderly nurtured home life to mother six motherless children, to bear nine of her own, and to share in all the toil and privation of the life of a Methodist preacher.

It was a quiet wedding. The bride made a sweet, old-timey picture in her black satin gown, with "mutton-leg" sleeves and pointed bodice, trimmed with pipings of black silk; the waving chestnut hair in a simple coil at the back of her head; dainty morocco slippers peeping from the hem of her robe; the money that would have purchased a new trousseau could be used to advantage in the home to which she was going.

The cloud of war appeared dimly on the horizon, and Clinton Kelly prepared to go