Cordelia Whatley Whitehead, A veritable mother in Israel passed away Tuesday morning when the death angel visited the home of Col. D. A. Whitehead in Collard Valley and took away the noble woman who has been the companion of his joys and sorrows for fifty-two years. Her maiden name was Cordelia Whatley, and she was a granddaughter of the late Gov. Lumpkin. She was born nearly seventy-seven years ago, and is survived by her husband and eight children, Mesdames J. T. Kay of Rome, Wm. Zuker, Geo. Maddox and S. M. Carden, Messrs. Wade, R. L., O. B. and A. J., who have much sympathy in the loss of a devoted wife and mother, one of the best women who ever lived. Funeral services were conducted yesterday at the home by her pastor, Rev. T. M. Stribling, of the Presbyterian Church, of which she was a loyal member, and the remains were brought to the city cemetery for interment. (Cedartown Standard, Thursday, September 12, 1918)

Mrs. Cordelia (Della) Whatley Whitehead, On the morning of Tuesday, the 10th inst., Mrs. Della Whitehead, as all her friends called her, passed away after a short spell of illness, leaving a grief stricken husband, four sons and four daughters, a number of grandchildren and a few great-grandchildren. This death occurred on a part of the same plantation where she first saw the light. She was born May 2nd 1842. Her father was W. O. B. Whatley, of Collard Valley, Polk County, and was a member of a prominent family of Georgia and Alabama. Her mother was the daughter of Gov. Wilson Lumpkin. She was educated at the Woodland Female College, established by the Rev. Jesse M. Wood in Cedartown some years before our Civil War. Mr. Wood was a man of piety and great learning, and this college was liberally patronized, and a diploma from that institution was no small honor. On Feb. 25th, 1862, she was married to Mr. David A. Whitehead, a young Confederate soldier and of an old Virginia family that stood high in both church and state. After this marriage she became "bone of man's bone and flesh of his flesh," his friend and companion, a sharer in all his pleasures, his joys and sorrows. After she had given her heart, hope and life to her husband she set to work to make him a happy home, and in this she completely accomplished her task. She consecrated her whole time and talent to the service of her God, her husband, her children and her home, and in this line her heart's supreme desires and expectation had their fruits in a beautiful realization. She had her garden in all growing seasons full of all kinds of nourishing vegetables; her dwelling surrounded by a rich profusion of sweet smelling flowers, and her yard chock full of all varieties of poultry. To all this sh e gave work and attention. How often when there have I seen the kingly peacock with its beautiful plumage fly brush tail and heard his loud call to all of his flock to rally and pay him homage. How often too, when there and seeing her moving untired and tireless among all these duties and cares, have I recalled a few lines from Tom Hood's "Song of the Shirt:" Work-work-work, Till the head begins to swim. Work-work-work, Till the eyes grows heavy and dim.: She was stimulated and took her urge upward and forward from the preachment of the poet: "Count that day lost whose low descending sun, Views from thy hand no worthy action done." She had her dreams, her ideals, and she had her desires, her hopes and her expectation; and she lived to see her dreams come true, her ideal made real and her hopes and expectation bloom and blossom into the most satisfying realization. But, oh! How short a time had she for the quiet contemplation and enjoyment of these rich blessings. For "Frail is the tenure of our mortal breath. Yea, in the midst of life we are in death." She was religious from principle, and showed this by her teachings and example. She had woven into her nature such keen threads of sensibility that she could not look upon pain without a desire to mitigate it. Or distress without trying to remove it. "Show us how divine a thing, A woman may be made." Her whole effort seemed to make life one grand sweet song. Her life and thoughts were constantly in accord with the sentiment of the poet: "Yet taught by time, my heart has learned to glow, For other's good, and melt for others' woe." Mrs. Whitehead lived a long and useful life, a life of service and self-denial. "She did what she could," and when the summons came she passed triumphantly to her reward. "However it be, it seems to me, "Tis only noble to be good." I was at the darkened home on the day of the final service, and found the stricken husband in the very flood-tide of his grief; he who was the schoolmate and friend of my boyhood day. "His form was bent, his gait was slow, His long thin hair was white as snow." With hands clasped, he said to me that God had blessed him in uncounted instances, and that he would submit to his afflictive providence without protest, murmur or complaint. I gave his hand a hearty shake and thought: What sublime heroism, what marvelous faith! "When I remember all the friends so linked together, I've seen around me fall like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one who treads alone some banquet hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead and all but the departed - Joseph A. Blance. (Cedartown Standard, Thursday, September 26, 1918)

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