Hn /IBemortam. 
Mtlliam Mtlltamson Melltnoton, HD. W, a nfccmorlal 
OF 
William w. Wellington, M. D. 
OF CAMBRIDGE. 
Read before The Cambridge Medical Improvement Society by 
Morrill Wyman, M. JJ., 2Sth December, 76'.96V - 
The Middle sex..South District Medical Society. 
Reprinted by Order oi 
Watertown, Mass., April 21, 1897. WILLIAM W. WELLINGTON, M. D. 
MORRILL WYMAN, M. 1). 
JTN the early summer of 1800,” as the story is told 
in a little volume of then i*ecent events, in a 
letter to her friend, “a Boston gentleman, 
Hon. James Sullivan, jurist and statesman, afterwards 
Governor of this Commonwealth, upon a tour of busi- 
ness and pleasure, visited the ‘ District of Maine,’ 
as it was then called, accompanied by a friend, Mr. 
William Williamson, of North Carolina. The part 
of the country through which they travelled was 
unfrequented. The scene was rural, the air refresh- 
ing, the birds carolled on every spray and all nature 
was in a most agreeable humour. The hearts of 
the two gentlemen, which vibrated to the harmony 
that pervaded Creation, were open to every tender 
impression. Every discordant idea was hushed in 
silence and every step seemed to cement their friend- 
ship. In one of their excursions in South Berwick 
township they met a little girl, five or six years old, 
whose beauty and sweetness, like some little wandering 4 
wood nymph, attracted their attention : they stopped 
to speak to her. 
“‘What is your name?’ said Mr. Williamson, 
dismounting from his horse, ‘What is your name?’ 
“ ‘ Eunice, sir,’ returned the child. 
‘ ‘ ‘ Who is your father ? ’ 
“ ‘ I have none,’ she said. 
‘‘‘ Ah ! that’s hard, indeed. Where is your mother ? 
“ ‘ She is sick and going to die too,’ cried the poor 
little girl. The feelings of the gentlemen were touched 
by the simplicity of the child. They followed up their 
interest by further inquiries and visited the house of 
the mother and found the sick woman and her friendly 
nurse. The nurse was talkative and in answer to 
their questions informed them that the mother was in 
the last stages of consumption, arid that her mind was 
entirely occupied concerning her child who would be 
left, on her death, in a defenseless and unprotected 
state. Entering the room where the widowed mother 
lay Mr. Williamson inquired if she would be willing 
to put the child under his protection. Her consent 
was given with joy : to her it seemed that this event was ordered by that Being who is the father of the 
fatherless and the protector of the widow. 
“ Mr. Williamson promised to send for the child so 
soon as the mother was no more, and they took their 
leave, while a very agreeable and lasting impression 
was made upon the mind of the sick woman and her 
attending friend. Upon their return they called upon 
the physician in attendance upon the mother, and 
begged him to pay her every attention his professional 
skill could render, and write when she breathed her 
last. 
“In about six weeks this event took place. Mr. 
Williamson sent immediately for the child, who was 
accordingly conveyed to Boston. On her arrival there 
Maria Eunice Lord, for that was her name, was 
received by her Boston friend and soon after went to 
the old town, earlier known by its Indian name of 
Menotomy, now Arlington. Here she was placed in 
the benevolent care of a lady, Miss Mary Cook, the 
daughter of Parson Samuel Cook, the first minister of 
the Parish, and in her family spent her early years, 
deriving ranch pleasure and advantage from her associ- 6 
ation witli the children of Mrs. Amory, Gov. Sullivan’s 
daughter, who usually passed their summers here. 
Mr. Williamson, after returning to his southern home, 
died of yellow fever, but not before making ample 
provision in his will for his beautiful and amiable 
ward.” Here the lady’s letter ends. 
In Aunt Mary’s hospitable home there was at the 
same time a young and promising physician, a graduate 
of Harvard and its Medical School, and at the age of 
eighteen Maria became the wife of Dr. Timothy Well- 
ington. The only child of this marriage was William 
Williamson Wellington who was born 29th July, 1814. 
Within two years his mother died of consumption. 
William remained with his father who, with more 
than usual paternal care, devoted himself to the educa- 
tion of his son, and later placed him at school with 
Mr. John Angier in the neighboring town of Medford. 
So successful was their united care of the bright and 
promising boy that William was fitted for Harvard 
College, to which he was admitted without conditions 
at the early age of twelve, but was retained at home 
two years longer, entering college in 1828 and gradu- 7 
ating with honors in due course in 1832. These 
honors were in Mathematics and Classics. In after 
life he said thei'e were many pleasures he would more 
willingly forego than those he enjoyed from reading his 
college classics. He was also a member of the Phi 
Beta Kappa, an honor then restricted to the first 
sixteen of the class. 
For two years he was a teacher at Northfield 
Academy, and then in 1835 entered the Medical 
School of Harvard University, receiving the degree 
of M.D. in 1838. The following year he settled as 
a physician in Cambridgeport. 
Dr. Wellington acquired the confidence of his 
patients ; he was calm in his manner, gentlemanly in 
his deportment, too modest, perhaps, for immediate 
effect, but those who learned to know him were 
impressed with a feeling that he had their interests 
sincerely at heart, and were sure that they would 
receive his greatest care and the utmost of his skill for 
their relief. 
In a short time he received from his fellow townsmen 
the appointment of Physician to the almshouse, which 8 
was situated in what may be called his district. This 
appointment was the introduction to a long series of 
public services lasting through his whole life. He 
was faithful in his attendance on its inmates and 
soothing in his intercourse with them, and made the 
clinical experience he there obtained a source of 
advantage seldom offered a young physician just 
entering upon the duties of his profession. I was 
often invited to visit with him at the almshouse and 
know well his devotion and the character of the 
methods he used in his examination of patients, his 
carefnl observation, analysis of symptoms, and his 
application of the principles of medicine. 
Dr. Wellington’s scholarly taste and the fact that 
he had had experience as a school teacher was not 
overlooked by his fellow citizens. He was early 
elected a member of the school committee. He was 
upon the Board for forty years, and its secretary for 
twenty-five years. His strong common sense and his 
professional training stood us in good stead. 
Through this long period he gave to our schools 
the aid of his accumulating experience, not only as to 9 
what relates to the health of the children in the school- 
room, but also as to the best methods of preventing the 
introduction of contagious diseases, or their possible 
spread in the community of which the school has 
sometimes been the most obvious cause. 
He was also keenly alive to every movement 
tending to improve the school intellectually and 
morally. A generation ago some of the Cambridge 
schoolmasters had fallen into very grave errors in 
their methods of school discipline. Twenty years 
before, Horace Mann, then Secretary of the State 
Board of Education, whose statue stands with that 
of Webster in front of the State Capitol, had taught 
the “ thirty-one Boston schoolmasters” with whom he 
had a contest over this very question, that the four 
corner stones of true school discipline were Duty, 
Affection, Love of Knowledge and Love of Truth. 
Horace Mann was no more. The masters had 
forgotten his teaching and had fallen back upon their 
four corner stones of school discipline: Authority, 
Force, Fear, Pain. Scholarly in taste, refined in 
feeling, Dr. Wellington’s humanity revolted at such a 10 
return to barbarism. He was a sincere admirer of 
Dr. Arnold, the great master of Rugby, whose portrait 
adorns the walls of his library, and lie strove to bring 
to our aid something of Dr. Arnold’s spirit, which we 
would have more apparent in our own schools. It is 
related that on one occasion, when out of patience 
with a dull pupil, to whom he had spoken sharply, the 
boy looked up and said “ Why do you speak angrily, 
sir lndeed lam doing the best that I can.” Dr. 
Arnold, in telling the story years after to his children, 
said :“ I never felt so much ashamed in my life that 
look and that speech I have never forgotten.” Our 
efforts were not successful. In the words of Horace 
Mann, “ There is peace on earth and good will among 
men. But lo ! what hideous spectacle profanes this 
hallowed vision ? It is a spectacle of men and the 
likeness thereof is as the likeness of the school- 
masters still flogging boys and flogging girls.” 
A crisis came, a girl of fourteen was the victim 
of this barbarous practice. The father of the girl 
appealed to the School Committee for redress; a 
majority sustained the teachers. Dr, Wellington 11 
with us of the minority, who believed in better 
methods, finding that no arguments would move the 
obdurate majority who claimed their rights without 
making any exception as to age, sex or disposition, 
then appealed to our fellow citizens. Two large 
meetings were held in the City Hall, the whole subject 
of school discipline was fully discussed, the methods of 
the majority of the School Committee were condemned 
and the practice abolished. It was a victory of Love 
over Force. 
At the dedication of our present English High 
School Building the orator of the occasion had these 
words “ I feel justified in saying that Dr. Wellington 
has done more and better work in your school than 
any other single citizen. He is the Nestor of our 
education life and like his Homeric prototype has seen 
two generations of speech-gifted men, and is now 
living in the third. His modest courage and sage 
counsel were prized by the worthies of former days 
and may yet serve you in important crises. A remin- 
iscent volume from him would be a cynosure for your 
committees in the coming century.” 12 
In 1870 Dr. Wellington gave the customary annual 
address before the Massachusetts Medical Society. 
His subject was “ Modern Medicine : its needs and its 
tendency.” 
It is a scholarly record of the observations of a 
mind trained in scientific methods at the bed-side of 
the sick. “ Life is short, chemical combinations 
numerous, and over-medication the besetting sin of the 
medical profession. The pressure upon medical men 
to polypharmacy is so strong that lie is a brave man 
who can resist it ; in fact, the only idea some people 
have of a physician is that lie is a man who gives 
medicine.” His estimate of the increasing value of 
modern medical science and the advance it has made 
with means and instruments at our command that 
our predecessors never dreamed of are drawn with a 
judicial care that we may well imitate. 
In 1888 his son Charles died. This young man 
had qualities of mind and heart that rendered his death 
more than a private loss. Soon after receiving his 
degree of Doctor of Medicine he was, at the opening 
of the Cambridge Hospital, chosen its House Physician. 13 
His kindness, tenderness and devotion to the welfare 
of the patients at the Hospital won for him their love 
and gratitude and his fidelity to all his duties secured 
the respect of the Guardians. He had that open and 
cheerful manner that brought with it something of the 
light and breeze of the summer fields, while his 
readiness to respond to all the calls of his office carried 
assurance to the sick that he regarded their needs far 
more than his own ease. If time was not granted 
him to make that mark in the community we had hoped, 
he had already formed a character that gave promise 
of an aim to be useful to his fellow men. His father 
had already passed the Davidean period of three score 
years and ten, and looked to him as a most interesting 
companion and as an aid for the rest of his professional 
life. In the spirit of the Greek epitaph : 
“ His father’s arms were round him, 
And when he breathed his life away, 
The joy of youth had crowned him. 
Old man; thou wilt not forget 
Thy lost one, when thine eye 
Gazes on the glowing cheek 
Of Hope and Piety.” 14 
After the death of hiss son, Dr. Wellington found 
his greatest relief in the occupation his profession 
gave him, and in the Cambridge Hospital of which he 
was a Trustee from its inception. Tie did not decline 
any professional calls in consequence of Ids affliction, 
but it was evident that his mind had received a severe 
shock from which he never fully recovered. Many 
months after the death he said “ I wish I could speak 
that boy’s name without tears.” He was very con- 
scientious in his profession, a little too much so his 
family thought, but, though fully aware of its weighty 
responsibilities, these did not become burdensome to 
him until at the age of seventy-five years he was 
induced to relinquish professional work altogether. 
The rest and pleasure that then came he was well 
fitted to enjoy ; he entered into the haven of its peace 
and freedom from all anxiety with the glad spirit of a 
little child ; he lived over the experience of the long 
past. He kept up Ids interest in public affairs, he read 
the medical and scientific journals and the literature of 
the day ; and with special interest everything relating 
to his Alma Mater. The last book that was read 
to him was Morse’s “ Life of Dr. O. W. Holmes.” 15 
He hailed with pleasure the advances in Biology 
and rejoiced in the consequent victories our profession 
is achieving over disease. Although lie vvTas called to 
O O 
witness, as all old people must, the death of contem- 
porary friends, he was one of those rare examples of 
old men of whom it has beautifully been said “ that 
their losses are largely compensated by that which, 
except health of body and mind, is the best gift of 
God to man, a large capacity for friendship which takes 
in and welcomes the new generations as they come.” 
He never complained he never showed impatience 
with himself or his failing faculties of body or of 
mind. A heavenly peace seemed to possess him 
and a sweet serenity shone from his countenance that 
melts the hearts of those who recall it. When asked 
what portion of his life he had enjoyed the most he 
replied “ the last eight years.” 
His decline was peaceful. Gently and quietly 
death came to him on Tuesday afternoon, the 27th 
day of October, 1896.* 
* The funeral services were held at his home on Inman St., Friday, Oct. 
30th. In consequence of his own church being without a pastor the 
services were conducted hy Rev. Francis Tiffany, assisted by Rev. Francis 
Peabody, D. D., of Cambridge. 16 
We began our professional work at nearly the 
same time. The two principal villages of Cambridge, 
Old Cambridge and Cambridgeport combined, had at 
that time but about 6,000 inhabitants ; we lived less 
than a mile apart; both were young, ready and eager 
for work, our courses were often in the same neigh- 
borhood. We met frequently and discussed medical 
questions freely and with advantage to each. In our 
professional consultations we fully appreciated the 
duties and responsibilities laid upon us, endeavoring 
to give full weight to the views advanced by each and 
due respect for opinions offered ; we were always close 
and warm friends. 
I trust that these personal reminiscences may be 
pardoned. In the midst of our losses it is grateful, 
and much to be thankful for, after so many years, to 
recall to mind some of the pleasant and profitable 
scenes witnessed with a good man, a wise physician, a 
faithful public servant and true friend. Dr. Wellington teas a member of the following societies : 
Massachusetts Medical Society. 
Boston Obstetrical Society Honorary member. 
Associate member of the Boston Medical Improvement 
Society. 
Cambridge Society for Medical Improvement. 
Associate member of the Massachusetts Medico-Legal 
Society. 
One of the seven persons applying to the General Court 
for an Act of Incorporation for the Cambridge Hospital, 
and a Trustee for the remainder of his life. 
A member of the Cambridge School Committee for 
forty years, and its Secretary for twenty-live years. 
Coroner of Middlesex for ten years. 
Physician of the Cambridge Almshouse. 
President of the Dowse Institute.