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O. P. Chapman’s 1883 carriage house. Originally built as part of the property for 318 South Main Street, it is now included in the parcel for 326 South Main Street. Photo by author.

O. P. Chapman’s 1883 carriage house. Originally built as part of the property for 318 South Main Street, it is now included in the parcel for 326 South Main Street. Photo by author.

Twenty-four months. That is how long it has been since I began writing this blog. And by pure coincidence, this is my one-hundred-and-twenty-fourth post. A great deal has changed since I began–my child has grown from a toddler to a preschooler–but other things are comfortingly familiar. The second post I ever produced was about the 168th Lorain County Fair; the 170th fair kicks off this weekend.

I wrote recently that I was considering how best to proceed moving forward with this work. When I began writing two years ago, I had a backlog of research from which to draw. Consequently, I could produce multiple posts each month. That is no longer the case. I have written up all the research I had completed, and every new post requires starting from scratch. That means more time between entries. It is hard for me to believe, but I began the blog with a string of sixteen posts in the span of eighteen days. Now I am producing about one per month.

For a few weeks, I have debated whether this ought to be my farewell essay. It seemed poetic to end on an anniversary. But I realized as the date drew nearer that I was reluctant to do that. I enjoy writing these stories and I especially enjoy interacting with all the readers. So instead, I am going to put the following questions to all of you: what were your favorite posts that you read here and why? Are there people or topics that you are particularly interested to learn more about? Do you have engaging stories from your own family history that you have always wanted to verify or disprove? Do you have local documents from the nineteenth century that you would be willing to share?

As always, I welcome your questions and comments. Just click, “Leave a reply,” under any post title.

Kith and Kin

Sign for DeWolf Street, Wellington, Ohio. Photo by author.

Sign for DeWolf Street, Wellington, Ohio. Photo by author.

Just northeast of the center of Wellington, there runs a small road that currently dead-ends into the village’s main train line. There are fewer than ten homes situated on DeWolf Street, and I would venture to guess that not many of the residents suspect their road is named after one of the village’s earliest and most respected settlers. Other than his headstone, Matthew DeWolf has only this memorial. But his family’s story is deeply entwined with the founding and growth of Wellington, and contrasting Matthew with one of his younger relatives offers an interesting case study on societal changes here over the course of the nineteenth century.

Matthew DeWolf was born in Otis, Massachusetts in 1792. He and many members of his family eventually emigrated from Berkshire County to Wellington Township. Though sources offer a wide range of dates for the trip, the ones I find most persuasive suggest that Matthew, his wife Mary, young son Homer, brother Whitman, and sister-in-law Alice all journeyed west together in January 1827, shortly after the latters’ marriage. It is possible that Matthew’s younger sister–recorded as Pamelia, Parmelia and Parnela–also traveled with them, though some sources seem to indicate that she arrived in Wellington first.

In the unpublished manuscript records of the First Congregational Church of Wellington, the following passage appears on May 12, 1827: “Mr. Matthew D. Wolf & his Wife Mary & Mrs. Alice D Wolf Wife of Whitman D Wolf from the Church of Otis & Jonathan Niles from the Church of West Stockbridge, After their Letters were read the Individuals were examined in regard to their experimental knowledge of religion and their views of truth and duty—the Church votd to receive them as members of this Church” (mss. pg. 11). Two years later, Matthew’s father, James DeWolf, was also examined and admitted to what was then known simply as the Church of Wellington (mss. pg. 19).

Inscription by

Inscription by “M. DWolf – Wellington, Ohio” on the endpaper of an 1834 “Psalms of David.” Private collection. Photo by author.

Matthew DeWolf was known to his contemporaries as a religious person, deeply committed to societal reform. He is recorded in numerous written recollections as the keeper of a “temperance tavern” on what is today the corner of North Main Street and East Herrick Avenue. (DeWolf owned much of the land in the northeast quadrant of the town, which is why the street bearing his name is located there.) The name suggests a public house in which no alcoholic beverages were permitted. DeWolf’s building is also said to have served as a regular meeting spot for the church, as well as one of the village’s first schoolhouses. J. B. Lang, the Wellington correspondent to the Lorain County News, wrote in his obituary, “Mr. DeWolf during some of the first winters of his residence here, occupied his time in teaching school, and it was the fortune of the writer to attend one of his schools, which was an excellent one, he being one of the first teachers in the country who discarded corporeal punishments in the school room” (7-19-1865, pg. 3).

Homer DeWolf, Matthew and Mary’s only child, died unmarried around 1840, when he was no more than twenty-five years old. Mary DeWolf died circa 1855/6 and was interred in Wellington’s Pioneer Cemetery on what is now West Herrick Avenue. If Homer is buried near her, his marker has not survived. Matthew, by then in his mid-sixties, decided to remarry. He proposed to a local tailoress called Betsey Webster Manly, also born in Otis, Massachusetts. Betsey had been a widow for more than thirty years, but she accepted Matthew’s hand.

Betsey was the daughter of a deacon from Berkshire County. She had married first husband Josiah Manly on her nineteenth birthday. Her obituary is worth quoting at some length: “They remained [in Otis] till 1821, then with their little family of five members, bade adieu to the old home, and with an ox team set out upon a journey to the Westward, Wellington being their destination. Forty days and nights were passed before this long and toilsome journey came to an end…Russell Webster, a brother of Mrs. Manly, had a log cabin nearly completed, which was to be the future home of this family…The cabin had some extra furnishings which had been brought from the East. There was one chair, a small stand, some sheep skin mats spread upon the white puncheon [i.e. split log] floors, a candle stick, with snuffers and tray, and a tallow candle burning in the socket, an article the other settlers had not seen in use since leaving their homes in the East” (The Wellington Enterprise, 5-15-1879, pg. 3).

In the summer of 1824, sickness had passed through the village. Young Betsey and her husband both fell gravely ill. Dr. Daniel Johns was their attending physician. Josiah died August 21st, the first death recorded in Wellington. Betsey was so sick she was not told for a week that her husband had passed. Josiah Manly has two headstones: a simple, older stone in the Pioneer Cemetery, and a later joint stone with Betsey in Greenwood Cemetery. I presume that Josiah was not disinterred–why would the older stone have been left standing?–but rather Betsey wished to honor her connection to him on her own marker. It is curious that Betsey would choose burial in Greenwood given that her parents, siblings and presumably both of her husbands were all located in the older graveyard. Perhaps by the time of her passing in 1879, that small space was full.

(In later life, Betsey became mother-in-law to David Hoke who, in 1890, murdered his employer then committed suicide in a grocery store on North Main Street.)

Known for his commitment to temperance, Matthew DeWolf was also apparently an ardent abolitionist. He, his brother-in-law Abner Loveland (who married Pamelia/Parmelia/Parnela DeWolf in 1826), and Dr. Eli Boies were among the twelve Wellington men arrested and indicted for their role in the famous Oberlin-Wellington Slave Rescue of 1858. DeWolf and Loveland were considered men of means, so they were fined $20 each and only spent twenty-four hours in jail. Historian Nat Brandt asserted in his The Town that Started the Civil War (1990) that most of the Wellington men were indicted not because of direct action on the day of the rescue, but because they were known to be conductors on the Underground Railroad. He included DeWolf, Loveland and Boies in that group.

Headstones of Mary DeWolf and Mathew DeWolf, Pioneer Cemetery, Wellington, Ohio. Photo by author.

Headstones of Mary DeWolf and Matthew DeWolf, Pioneer Cemetery, Wellington, Ohio. Photo by author.

Matthew DeWolf died in the summer of 1865 and was buried next to his first wife, Mary. As I mentioned, the couple’s only child had died decades before. But one historical source claims that DeWolf raised a nephew. It is tempting to wonder if that nephew was James DeWolf, son of Whitman and Alice, who was born in Wellington in 1829. James was sometimes mistakenly referred to as Matthew’s son. Is that because he lived in Matthew’s household? Or is it because humans love to craft narrative around the events that they observe, and the more shocking and ironic that narrative, the better?

For James DeWolf was very unlike his well-respected uncle, one might say the polar opposite. He first appears in the public record in the late 1860s, charged with selling liquor. In 1868, his saloon on the south side of Liberty Street burned to the ground. The Lorain County News noted that most of the saloon’s contents were saved, excepting “two valuable billiard tables” (2-12-1868, pg. 3). Four years later, James was sued by a wife for selling intoxicating liquors to her husband; the case was to be heard by Mayor Noah Huckins but was settled out of court. A drunken brawl the same year left a customer with a nearly-severed ear and the bartender shot in the shoulder. In 1875, a suspicious death at DeWolf’s saloon resulted in a murder inquiry, but ultimately no one was charged with the crime.

Mrs. Lydia Boies met James DeWolf. In a letter now held in a private collection, she wrote: “Saloons were then not lawful, nor were they forbidden in Ohio. They were simply refused a license & were regarded as incompatible with the good of society. A young gentleman (De Wolf) opened a saloon for money making. We—that is, we that were accustomed to watch and pray for everyone were terribly aroused and began to ask ‘What can we do about it?’ We found also 2 or 3 others in town. One morning I received a message from Mrs. [Jerusha] Reed asking if I would join her in leading an attack with axe and hammer on De Wolfs and other saloons. Now I am physically & constitutionally a coward unless where I see duty or God leading, and my cowardice served me here. I replied that De Wolf kept a bull dog and and gun which he declared would be used on any one molesting him, and also I said violence was only to be used as a last resort. We then met and planned a series of visitations in person to every saloon keeper. Mrs. Reed & I visited a German who said ‘I will give up if oders will.’ De Wolf refused, and in after years it proved his ruin” (mss. pgs. 12-13).

Local amateur historian Robert Walden never met James DeWolf, but he did know James’ wife and daughter, Jessie DeWolf Seeley. Walden wrote: “James, universally called Jim…made a radical departure from the straight and narrow. He opened a saloon called ‘The Morning Star’ next door west from the Foote old frame livery stable on the south side of Herrick Avenue West. As its name suggested, he kept it open when occasion suggested until the wee hours of the morning. It was the scene of wild celebrations.” Walden noted that it was after the suspicious death in his establishment that James sold The Morning Star and left Wellington for nearby Clarksfield Hollow. “Many of the laborers were Irish and West Clarksfield had several saloons but there was an overflow crowd at Jim’s place in Clarksfield Hollow on Saturdays” (Notebook, #A159).

Damaged headstone of James DeWolf (1829-1900) in Clarksfield Township Cemetery. Photo from website Findagrave.com.

Damaged headstone of James DeWolf in Clarksfield Township Cemetery. Photo from website Findagrave.com.

James DeWolf’s wife eventually divorced him and he began living on the second floor of his new saloon. It was there, in December 1900, that he died in a fire that made headlines all over the state. The Stark County Democrat was one among many that reported, but did so in unusually gruesome detail. “Dewolf, a single man, was asleep in an upper room, was unable to make his escape, and prished [sic] in the flames. His head and limbs were burned from his body, and only a portion of his trunk was found in the ashes. He was smothered by the smoke and in attempting to get out of the building, fell headlong into the burning embers” (12-18-1900, pg. 2). Several of the newspaper accounts referred to DeWolf’s business as a tobacco and confectionery store, rather than as a bar.

Matthew DeWolf was seventy-three years old when he died. His nephew, James, was nearly seventy-two. The men shared a family name and hometown over the course of roughly equal life spans, but ultimately took quite different paths. It would be overstating matters to suggest some symbolism of a decline in Wellington’s civic life; that The Temperance Tavern, serving also as a church and school, gave way over the decades to the rowdy drunkenness and criminality of The Morning Star. Wellington grew and changed, to be sure, but it did not steadily decline from a wilderness paradise to an urban den of iniquity. Still, I find something deeply compelling in this family–and town–story.

Freeman Battle (1850-1897)

Trade card for Standard Sewing Machine Co., Cleveland, Ohio. Stamped

Trade card for Standard Sewing Machine Co., Cleveland, Ohio. Stamped “FREE BATTLE, AGENT, WELLINGTON, O.” on reverse. Though the background of the image appears grey, it is a metallic silver that reflects light as the card is turned. Author’s collection.

Regular readers of the blog will know of my affection for both trade cards and objects that lead to stories. This lovely polychromatic trade card, which measures approximately three by five-and-one-quarter inches, represents a sewing machine company from Cleveland, Ohio. But the reverse of the card is stamped on the diagonal, “FREE BATTLE, AGENT, WELLINGTON, O.,” and that leads us to a little story.

Freeman Battle was born on September 2, 1850 in Brighton. His grandfather, Ithiel Battle, was an early settler of Wellington township; his name was recorded in an 1827 census of the white male inhabitants of Lorain County. On November 6, 1880, Freeman married Alice E. Sage. She was the daughter of Samuel L. Sage, a grocer on North Main Street in Wellington. In 1890, when Sage was fatally shot by his own shop clerk, it was to his son-in-law’s house on Mechanics Street that he was carried, dying there three hours later.

Advertisement for

Advertisement for “The Domestic” sewing machine, sold locally by Free Battle. “The Wellington Enterprise,” 3-18-1891, pg. 4.

Battle was employed as a retail agent selling sewing machines. According to his advertisements, his office was in the building erected in 1890 by Hoyt & Peters, also on Mechanics Street and still standing today. When his father died in September 1896, Freeman rented out his house and moved his family back to Brighton to care for his aging stepmother. He was apparently already in ill health himself; as early as 1885, reports in The Wellington Enterprise described him as “sick with congestion of the liver,” (2-11-1885, pg. 5). Even so, he continued on in business and promotions for his Wellington operation appeared in the newspaper for several months after he no longer resided in the village.

Freeman Battle died in Brighton on October 18, 1897. His obituary reported that he was “in the hope of going to some climate which would prove beneficial to his already failing health, but the disease which had so firm a hold upon him developed so rapidly that he was obliged to abandon the trip toward which he had looked forward with so much hope. His illness was protracted and painful, alternating with hope and fear, but when he at last realized that although he was just in the prime of life, the summons had come to him to come up higher he said to his faithful wife, the Lords [sic] will, not mine be done” (Enterprise, 11-3-1897, pg. 5).

Battle was just forty-seven years old when he died. His widow, Alice, survived him by four decades, dying in 1936 at the age of eighty-five. Both are interred in Greenwood Cemetery, though for unknown reasons, Alice’s name is not recorded on the stone. If the couple had any children, I have found no record of them. Only the little girl on the card remains.

Headstone of Freeman Battle, Greenwood Cemetery, Wellington, Ohio. Photo by author.

Headstone of Freeman Battle, Greenwood Cemetery, Wellington, Ohio. Photo by author.

Christmas in July

“The Wellington Enterprise,” 12-21-1898, pg. 1. Original object held in the collections of the Western Reserve Historical Society, Cleveland, Ohio. Photo by author.

On this day devoted to outdoor celebrations in sunshine and heat, I decided to celebrate something a bit different. I’ve written at some length about the history of The Wellington Enterprise over the course of the nineteenth century. (Posts can be found here, here and here.) A few months ago, when I made a research visit to the Western Reserve Historical Society in Cleveland, one of my purposes was to look at a specific issue of that newspaper dated December 21, 1898. I believe it is the first issue of the Enterprise ever to use color printing.

The December 14th edition announced the special publication: “Our Christmas Number. Next week’s number of the The Enterprise will be the Christmas, and will be issued next Monday. It will consist of eight pages, including a specially designed cover, printed in colors. This as well as the inside pages will be of good quality of book paper, all stitched together on our wire stitcher, and will be by far the handsomest holiday paper ever put out in the city. It will not be a conglomerated mass of advertising daubed on paper, but a neat, distinctive, attractive portrayal of great bargains. Such work as this office takes pride in producing…” (pg. 4).

The owners of the paper at that time, brothers operating under the name French Printing Company, had only run the business since 1897 but had very soon gone into financial receivership. They tried a number of schemes to increase circulation, including reducing the paper from eight pages to four but printing it twice per week. This experimentation with color seems to be have been another such attempt to increase advertising dollars and make the company solvent. The plan failed and the newspaper was sold to a small stock company formed expressly to save it, just after the turn of the century.

Enjoy the sunshine and warmth of this Independence Day, dear readers. Do not give a thought to the cold and snows that will be here before we know it.

“The Wellington Enterprise,” 12-21-1898, pg. 7. Original object held in the collections of the Western Reserve Historical Society, Cleveland, Ohio. Photo by author.

By the Numbers

Cabinet card image of unidentified woman, taken by William Sawtell. Author's collection.

Cabinet card image of unidentified woman, taken by William Sawtell. (One of thirty such Sawtell images acquired during the researching and writing of this blog.) Author’s collection.

As I approach the second anniversary of this project, I have been considering how best to proceed moving forward. Should I continue to post ongoing research? Should I further develop the body of work on topics of particular interest to me? Perhaps I should stop posting regularly and instead focus on publishing a traditional, hardbound book? While I ponder these questions, I have been doing a great deal of behind-the-scenes work on the blog, structural and copy editing improvements that have almost certainly been invisible to the public.

In the course of that process, I have assembled some statistics and “fun facts” about the blog. I am the sort of person who loves a stats list–yes, please, do tell me precisely how many times my DNA would stretch around the equator if it were all unraveled! If that sort of exercise is not to your taste, dear reader, you may wish to give this post a pass.

This is my 120th post in just twenty-two months. By my calculations, I have already written over 101,000 words on the history of Wellington in the 1800s, excluding captions and comments. When that text is put into manuscript form–sans illustrations–it is just shy of 200 pages (in 12 pt font). Adding in the illustrations would extend the page count considerably, as I’ve used more than 430 of them.

Of the 101,000 words, more than 20% were written about just five subjects. They are as follows, in ascending order: William F. Sawtell (photographer and painter); Wah Sing (Chinese proprietor of a laundry business); Dean (emancipated female slave and one of the very first settlers of the village); Noah Huckins (Canadian entrepreneur who built a house my family once owned); and The Wellington Enterprise. I have written multiple posts on each of these topics, tallying in total 4,000 to 5,500 words each.

And you, the audience, have been more than generous in your support of this little endeavor. More than one hundred of you are subscribers to 19th-Century Wellington. Visitors to this page–and there have been upwards of 23,000–have come from 84 countries around the globe. (Top five countries in descending order: United States; Canada; United Kingdom; New Zealand; France.) You have offered more than one hundred comments, all of them kind, encouraging, and expressing a level of interest in the topic that continues to surprise and delight me.

Many thanks, as always, for your time and attention. If you have comments to make, or suggestions to offer, you can do so at any time by clicking, “Leave a reply,” under any post title.

“Painted by W. F. Sawtell”

Oil painting on canvas by William F. Sawtell. Before treatment photograph by John T. Seyfried, on behalf of Galloway Art Conservation LLC. Object in author's collection.

Oil painting on canvas by William F. Sawtell. Before treatment photograph by John T. Seyfried, on behalf of Galloway Art Conservation LLC. Object in author’s collection.

A few months ago, I acquired a small oil painting created by William Sawtell in 1892. I have written about Sawtell’s photography studio and his lesser-known artistic talents before, but I had never handled one of his pieces until this little study came into my hands. It is about twenty inches high and ten inches wide, painted on a canvas that Sawtell apparently fabricated himself. The canvas was brittle, with small splits and holes, and a few of the wooden keys (used to keep the canvas appropriately tensioned over the wooden stretcher) were missing. The image had darkened with time and there were several areas of loss where the paint had been damaged over the years.

It just so happens that I know an excellent paintings conservator, Heather Galloway of Oberlin, Ohio. I took this little oil painting to her for an assessment and treatment proposal. She determined that the painting was in good condition and that its appearance could be improved by the removal of a varnish layer she did not believe was original. The varnish had been applied over “a significant deposit of dirt” and the way in which it was applied suggested that the painting was already in a frame at the time. We agreed that she would remove the later varnish, repair breaks in the canvas, and fill the areas of paint loss.

Oil painting on canvas by William F. Sawtell. During treatment photograph by John T. Seyfried, on behalf of Galloway Art Conservation LLC. Object in author's collection.

Oil painting on canvas by William F. Sawtell. During treatment photograph by John T. Seyfried, on behalf of Galloway Art Conservation LLC. Object in author’s collection.

The image above is a “during treatment” photograph that shows the difference made in the appearance of the painting by a partial removal of the darkened varnish and dirt layer underneath it. Once the varnish was totally removed, Heather could fill the areas of paint loss.

Verso of oil painting on canvas by William F. Sawtell. After treatment photograph by John T. Seyfried, on behalf of Galloway Art Conservation LLC. Object in author's collection.

Verso of oil painting on canvas by William F. Sawtell. After treatment photograph by John T. Seyfried, on behalf of Galloway Art Conservation LLC. Object in author’s collection.

The verso, or back, of the painting features a prominent black signature, “PAINTED BY W. F. SAWTELL.” (There are also small red initials painted in the lower, right-hand corner of the landscape.) Heather created new wooden keys for the stretcher, visible in the upper right. She fashioned a backing board with a window cut through it, so the signature would remain visible even while the verso of the painting was protected. What is difficult to see with the naked eye, but shows up nicely in conservation photography, is an additional inscription painted on the left side of the stretcher, shown below.

Detail of inscription on verso of oil painting by William F. Sawtell. After treatment photograph by John T. Seyfried, on behalf of Galloway Art Conservation LLC. Object in author's collection.

Detail of inscription on verso of oil painting by William F. Sawtell. After treatment photograph by John T. Seyfried, on behalf of Galloway Art Conservation LLC. Object in author’s collection.

The inscription reads, “Painted For Mrs. E. F. Webster. 1892.” William Sawtell was lifelong friends with Edward Webster, a founding partner of Horr, Warner & Co. The two men served in the Civil War and it was Webster who handled Sawtell’s financial affairs when the photographer began to suffer from mental illness in later life. Identified as Sawtell’s guardian in his probate documents, Edward Webster served as administrator of the estate and paid for expenses including “getting body of Wm. Sawtell home from Cleveland” and clothing it in a new shirt for burial. This little oil painting was apparently crafted as a gift for Edward’s wife, Flora Ladd Webster (1846-1917).

1870 wedding portrait of Flora Ladd and Edward Webster, taken in Wellington, Ohio. Photo 970674 of

1870 wedding portrait of Flora Ladd and Edward Webster, taken in Wellington, Ohio. Photo 970674 of “Wellington Family Album” Collection, Herrick Memorial Library. Permission to display generously granted by the library.

After the conservation treatment was completed, Heather assisted me in the selection of a modern frame, the original frame being lost. We chose one that had a period feel to it, gold toned and slightly ornate. Heather lined the new frame with felt to prevent abrasion, and secured the painting in place with modern metal mending plates. I am very pleased with the results.

Oil painting on canvas by William F. Sawtell.  Photograph by Heather Galloway. Object in author's collection.

Oil painting on canvas by William F. Sawtell. Photograph by Heather Galloway. Object in author’s collection.

It makes me happy to think that this little jewel is back hanging in a Wellington home. If you have local history treasures that you believe should be preserved, post a comment or send me a message. I can put you in touch with a terrific conservator!

UPDATE: Per an exchange in the comments below, here is a candid shot of the back of the object. The outermost, cream-colored rectangle is the modern frame. The dark rectangle nestled inside that is the original canvas on its stretcher. The white, central rectangle is a backing board made of a conservation material called Coroplast; this protects the fragile back of the canvas and does not give off any chemicals that might harm the painting over time. You can see that Heather cut a window through the Coroplast (covered with transparent Mylar) so that the signature remains visible. She also attached the metal mending plates to the new frame, so that they neither touch nor damage the original wooden stretcher of the painting.Back of Sawtell

Recent Acquisitions

Postcard image showing the Edward Tripp house, formerly located at 161 East Herrick Avenue. Card is postmarked September 24, 1906. Author's collection.

Postcard image showing the Edward Tripp house, formerly located at 161 East Herrick Avenue. Postmarked September 24, 1906. Author’s collection.

Since I began writing this blog nearly two years ago, I have started a small collection of images and documents relating to individuals I have profiled. I thought it might be fun to write a short post featuring some of my recent acquisitions. The image above of the Edward Tripp house is from an RPPC (real photo postcard), a personal photographic image printed directly on postcard stock, which became immensely popular at the turn of the twentieth century. This card was mailed to Marion, Ohio, in the fall of 1906. The house is no longer standing, having been demolished in the 1970s.

Receipt from Huckins & Wilbur, stove and tinware merchants, to John Whiton. Issued November 21, 1870. Author's collection.

Receipt from Huckins & Wilbur, stove and tinware merchants, to John Whiton. Issued November 21, 1870. Author’s collection.

Anyone who has read this blog from the beginning knows that Noah Huckins has always been a primary focus of my research. He built the Italianate house that my family owned for a decade. I was tickled to find this receipt from his partnership with John W. Wilbur. The two men ran a hardware store on Mechanics Street (now East Herrick Avenue) for seven years, from 1868 to 1875. Huckins later went on to found his own company–a cheese box manufacturing facility–with Charles Horr, while Wilbur continued on at the hardware store until his retirement and relocation to California in 1895.

Undated image of Mary Ethel Sutliff, taken by William Sawtelle. Author's collection.

Undated image of Mary Ethel Sutliff, taken by William Sawtell. Author’s collection.

This charming image of a little girl, hand-labelled “Mary Ethel Sutliff” on the reverse, is one of a number of photographs I have amassed taken by William Sawtell. I find Sawtell to be one of the most interesting people I have researched in Wellington’s history. His skill as a photographer is evident in all of his portraits, examples of which can be found here and here. Less well known is the fact that the man was also a talented artist. A few months ago, I came into possession of a small signed and dated oil painting that Sawtell apparently created as a gift. I am having it professionally conserved and framed, and will write a post about that process when it is finished.

Receipt for meat, written by J. M. Crabtree to J. W. Wilbur. Dated September 13, 1882. Author's collection.

Receipt for meat, written by J. M. Crabtree to J. W. Wilbur. Dated September 13, 1882. Author’s collection.

John Wilbur appears a second time, in this instance paying $18.41 to local butcher John Crabtree. Just a few weeks after I started this blog, I stumbled first across Crabtree’s meat market, and then shortly thereafter, the tragic story of his family. Crabtree lost two children and his wife in just a few weeks, during the summer of 1877. After that calamity, the butcher left Wellington for a year, but returned to resume business and remained in the village until his death in 1901.