Yesterday the 15th, Mother Elizabeth Whiting reached the age of 76 years. Her children, grand and great grand children gathered to the old home in honor of the happy day.
At 2 o’clock p.m. Dinner was announced and such a dinner! Spread upon two long tables. Roasted Pullets from Sage Creek, yellow rolls of butter from Mapleton, three slices of roast beef from F.P. Whitmores meat market, with the usual array of cake, pie and puddings in all styles, together with many other choice dishes. Benediction was pronounced by Father Edwin Whiting. Did we ever eat? We did.
An hour later Mother Whiting was in her large sitting room receiving congratulations and presents. The company were entertained by Mr. W. T. Tero, who performed several very fine instrumental pieces. Darius Green and his flying machine by Aaron Johnson”
From an address on the occasion by D.C. Johnson we quote the following: “Seventy-six years!” to what a remote age do those fingers point, to the younger children present. Seventy six years ago our glorious government was in its infancy. Mother Whiting has lived to see it take the front rank among the greatest nations. The mighty triumphs of mind over matter. The wonderous steam motor whistling with its palatial train, and living freight on its shining steel way, from the eastern waters to the Western ocean in five days time. The earth, girded by the magnetic coil, annihilating time and space, more marvelous than anything recounted by eastern fable. The ocean coursers, speeding over the main, easily, between Sabbath and Sabbath, laughing in its giant strength, at the howling tempest and the plunging waves. She has lived to see a terrible war convulse our nation, our country restored again to peace and amnity. The fetters of serfdom stricken from human slaves and our nation’s ensign wave from bordering oceans, to the centre of a great and glorious union.
Dear Mother may you still dwell with us many years. Mother! What a tender word, what an enduring title. The most hallowed word uttered by human tongue. Around this enshrined name cling all the sacred memories of home, the word stands for all that is pure and noble. The mention of the endearing term recalls all that is tender, loving and true. The first word lisped by prattling infant lips is the sweet word “Mother” The first to hail with rapture the cry of the new born babe, is mother. And the last to bend low over the dying couch when the pale rider is on his round to catch the last good-bye, is mother!”
Andie
Springville, April 15, 1890
Source: The Daily Enquirer Newspaper 1890-04-18, page 1 Volume 15, no. 32
Transcribed from online edition of the newspaper, Utah Digital Newspapers, URL https://newspapers.lib.utah.edu/details?id=1411189&q=1890+Mother+Elizabeth+Whiting+reached+the+age+of+76+years&sort=rel 3 Jan 2012 by James. W. Whiting
Original spelling and punctuation retained.
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