The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1899-01-10
HAS PASSED BEYOND
Patrick Mcdonald the Sage
of Glen Mary"
CAME HERE IN EARLY DAYS
Was a Born Poet, Doomed to
Follow the PIOW.
CAME HERE IN EARLY DAYS

News reached the city yesterday morning
Of the death Of Patrick Mcdonald, who
passed quietly, though not unexpectedly,
away, at 'Glen Mary" his home, just as
the light Of the Sabbath mornings sun
was chasing the shadows Of the long night
across the expanse of prairie and of plain
that stretch away from Glen Mary to
the foot Of the far-distant mountain ranges
which bound these on the west. With
those fleeing shadows the spirit OF zone
Of the Macks'' took its fight into the in
visible, there to realize that for which he
ever prayed, the fruition of the substance
of the things which in his unwavering
faith has so long been hoped for. Our old
friend was born in Ireland in 1880, where
he was brought up coming TO America in
his early manhood, and TO Kansas and 10
this valley in 1870. He viii be buried this
morning from the Pro-Cathedral church al
1880.
Patrick Mcdonald. Of rugged aspect,
though Of form bent by incessant toll,
had a massive face, from beneath whose
expansive brow looked forth eyes which
mirrored a poets soul. He was, in ply
sique, Of giant mold, in spirit, he was as
gentle as woman. For him the lessons
Of experience had proved a hard grind yet
in his inward life there was little else than
the essence Of the sentimental and the
exaltation Of the ideal. a born poet,
doomed TO follow the plow, he apprehended
only beauty, and saw it in everything.
In historical acumen and in classic lore he
had few equals in this region, no superiOrs.
Still he remained an accomplishing plod-
der to the end, sans ambition and without
an aspiration which reached beyond the
pressing necessity fer daily bread for him
self, for the mother of his children, and
for those which the Barney Gibbons trag-
edy brought to mis- lot and home. He
lowered to the notch in that critical stand
ard of honesty which proclaims such an
one to be the noblest work Of God. His
sympathies always went out for the toilers
Of this world, as his poems and writings
50 Wen attest. And here it is but mete to
say as a true singer, as writer of verse,
he was really gifted. In the past twenty
five years he has written more and better
poetry for these columns than any other
contributor. While there ran through all
his compositions an exalted patriotism.
there was never any lack of delicate send-
ment. The writer Of this brief memoriam
mas thought a thousand times that not one
IN q thousand of Pat NIcDonald's neighbors
or friends ever adequately measured the
man, or sounded his depth Of soul. His
home, ''GIen Mary" named Of his love
for his wife IS as unpretentious as was
his life. While his admiration for Ameri-
can institutions was unbounded, his faith
in the destiny Of his adopted country sub
lime, IN that he held that in these We're the
hope Of the world Of mankind, he yet was
a warm partisan. His love for the Repub-
lean party was eompassed by its historic
efforts to make all men free; his devotion
TO 1t was found in the fact that he believed
that in its protective tenets the laboring
classes would sooner or later find sure sue
cor and independence. Few township or
county conventions that failed Of finding
Pat Mcdonald present. not as a candidate,
but as the friend of the candidate whom
he most trusted to stand by the spirit Of
the Republican platform. It is said of him
that in an early day he and ex-senator
John Kelly made a complete canvass Of
the county on horses, riding bareback
Educated, we believe for the priesthood. he
filed the chair OF a professorship in an
institution in his native land. Catching a
CLEAN Of better things, of wider opportuni-
ties, shining from the far-off face of CO.
lumbia, he bid farewell to the Emerald
Isle and TO all it held, and crossed the !
ocean to become a man among men, to be-
come an American of Americans, 10 live |
among US 90 be only respected, for years,
and to die finally only to be regretted.
The tide for him, in running low, at last
ran out. The throbbing mill Of life with its
ceaseless grinding, its restless churning /
waters. its beat of forge and CIanking en-
gnes, has stopped for Pat Mcdonald, all |
the myriad sounds Of strife by day and |
moan Of night. His eyes are closed, his |
arms folded, and there remains for him /
but the chanting Of the requiem, che say /
ing Of the last solemn mass for the dead.
The rolling ocean which separates the /
land OF his adoption from that in which |
he spent his youth, stin Gibbs and flows: |
the purpIing shadows enwrap "Glen Mary /
in gloom about. but beyond the Unknown |
sea, beside the Unseen shore, all gales and /
storms safely passed, with sails all peace |
fully fur,ed, Patrick ATcDonalFs bark is /