Grant County WI Archives Obituaries.....Conley, Patrick February 4, 1892
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Pam Conley conleyp@tds.net July 4, 2012, 9:03 am

Fennimore Times
1892 Fennimore Times
Mr. Patrick Conley
It becomes our sad duty this week to chronicle the death of one of Irish 
Ridge’s old settlers, which occurred at his home in the town of Woodman on the 
morning of Feb. 4th.
The deceased was born in the county Mayo, Ireland.  At the age of  28, he came 
to this country, settling in Connecticut.  Three years later he was united in 
marriage to Miss Margaret Collins.  In 1856, he migrated to Wisconsin settling 
in the town of Woodman where he resided up to the time of his death. 
He enjoyed good health till about a week prior to his death, when he 
contracted a severe cold, which developed into lung fever and resulted in his 
death.  All that medical skill and loving children could do was willingly 
done, but of no avail.  He realized some time before his death that he could 
not recover and calmly and patiently awaited the call with the strength of the 
Catholic faith and inspired by its hope he quietly passed away from earth.
Mr. Conley was known as an industrious and faithful in the performances of his 
religious duties and integrity of character won for him the friendship of all 
whom he was associated with.  Like many others who left Ireland after many 
years of hard and persistent industry, he was at last and for some years 
previous to his death enabled to enjoy the comforts and joys of a pleasant and 
happy home.
The funeral services were held from St. Lawrence church, Mt. Hope, Feb. 6.  A 
solemn mass of requiem being celebrated by the Rev. M. H. McNulty, who 
delivered a fine sermon.
Father McNulty began with the words, “It is better to go to the house of the 
mourning, than to the house of feasting, for in that way we are put in mind of 
the end of all, and the living thinketh of what is to come.”

A son and daughter survive him, both of whom are married, followed that 
honored casket to its resting place in the quiet church yard on the hill.  
There, side by side with the loved ones gone before, he sleeps the sleep that 
knows no wakening, within the shadows of the cross he loved so well.

Oh grave where is thy victory
O death where is thy sting. 

M. F.



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