On the seventh of September, 1874, the resumption of the collieries had, for a time, a pacifying effect upon the irrepressibles of the coal country, and quiet seemed about restored. But Shenandoah Division grew in strength and numbers meanwhile. At a meeting held on the fifth of the month, Andrew Murphy, of Loss Creek, John Dean, John Carey, and John Walsh were accepted and duly initiated. A brother of the Bodymaster was rejected, at the suggestion of McAndrew in person, as he urged that the man proposed was continually in trouble and would surely bring disgrace upon the honorable brotherhood. During the latter part of September occurred the decease of old Mr. Raines, a crippled miner, who for several years, through rheumatism and hurts received under a falling pillar, had been unable to perform any labor. From the same causes his body and limbs were bent forward into the shape of an irregular crescent. There was to be a loud wake, and McKenna having nearly recovered his health and good spirits—but being not yet cured of his adopted habit of drinking—received an invitation to be present. He was ready for a spree, or anything else, and went. The Raines place was near the Rappahannock works, on the road from Loss Creek to Girardville, where were situated a number of “patches” belonging to different collieries. The family was large, its range of acquaintance extended, and over a hundred men and women gathered to do honor, in their usual way, to the departed. The corpse was laid out in the largest and best room of the house, with candles at its head and feet. There was a dilapidated table in the center of the apartment, which for many seasons had seen service in parlor, dining-room, and kitchen, and now supported pipes, tobacco, and two bottles of liquor, with a generous supply of lucifer matches. At one end of the room was a cookstove, but as the weather was yet genial, no fire shone through its door. Benches and blocks of wood served as seats for the men and women, who were ranged about the walls and table, the majority of the men wearing their hats, and the ladies, with lace caps or without them, as accorded with their respective ages and circumstances in life. An old-fashioned pendulum clock, with weights, and a face as smoky as the surrounding walls, hung against the plastering at the other side of the place; there were a few pictures; and the last almanac issued by Dr. Jayne swung from a nail under an ancient square-framed looking-glass, which was inclining forward just above. But the principal thing to attract the eye of the detective, when he and his companions—Hurley and Monaghan—entered, was the corpse, to honor which all the people had assembled. The coffin could not yet be used—and for a good reason—the body would not fit into it, but the plain, walnut case rested in another room. Stretched out on a sheet spread over a rough board, which was supported at either end by a common chair, reposed all that was mortal of old Mr.