A section of Hartford, known as Statehouse Square, was a center of commerce with stores and business offices of all kinds focused around the Old State House. Dwight H. Buell's Jewelry shop which, according to the 1881 Geer's Hartford City Directory was located on 54 High Street, was one such business.

Dwight H. Buell was a jeweler, silversmith, and watchmaker in the city of Hartford who ended up with a role in the financial calamity that forced the Clemens family to leave the city permanently. Buell was the go-to for any jewelry needs for the well-to-do, whether that be necklaces, watches, rings, clocks, cufflinks. He dabbled in investments as well. The Clemens family purchased from his shop often, and their receipts over the years include items like combs, clocks, mounting for a mosaic pin, and eyeglass repairs. In his autobiography in 1890 Clemens reminisced about his friendship with Buell and how it led to one of the biggest mistakes of his lifetime:

Ten or eleven years ago, Dwight Buell, a jeweler, called at our house and was shown up to the billiard room --- which was my study…. He wanted me to take some stock in a type-setting machine. He said it was at the Colt Arms factory, and was about finished. I took $2,000 of the stock. I was always taking little chances like that; and almost always losing by it too – a thing which I did not greatly mind, because I was always careful to risk only such amounts as I could easily afford to lose.

The Paige Compositor was the name of the aforementioned type-setting machine and Clemens came to believe and invest in the machine. The Paige Compositor required over 18,000 moveable parts and never worked properly. Clemens became frustrated with the inventor, James Paige, and snarked, “What a talker he is. He could persuade a fish to come out and take a walk with him. When he is present I always believe him – I cannot help it. When he is gone away all the belief evaporates. He is a most daring and majestic liar.” Instead of revolutionizing the printing industry the machine failed miserably and cost Clemens not only tons of money, but the safety, security, and happiness of the life his family had built together in Hartford.

One jewelry purchase made by the Clemenses from Buell’s shop were a pair of topaz cufflinks which are in the Museum’s collections today, still in their original hinged box with Buell's business stamped into the lining of the box top. We believe topaz was selected as it is the birthstone of November and both Clemens and his wife Olivia have birthdays in that month.

These cufflinks with their large (and dare we say gaudy) topaz jewels are a symbol of both Clemens’ prosperity as well as his financial decline. Now whether these jewels were purchased through Olivia’s family wealth or due to Clemens’ success as a writer, publisher, and lecturer (or from any of his other side hustles), we do not know. But to be able to afford such a luxury item and then the privilege of wearing them about town nods to a time of financial stability for the family. Buell died in 1889 at the age of 55; just a couple of years before the Clemens family had to move out of their beloved home due to the failure of the Paige Compositor and a devastating loss of money.

Some would argue that Cincinnatus Taft became a doctor due to his childhood when he suffered from frequent and unyielding hemorrhages from his lungs. Several doctors told his parents that this was a result of his lungs not working properly and he would likely live six months or less. Thankfully, he greatly exceeded their expectations and decades later found himself in school to become a doctor. Taft graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons of New York before moving to Hartford in 1846 to take over his brother Gustavus’ homeopathic practice which he started in 1842.

Taft’s office was located at 311 Main Street in State House Square. Although Taft maintained an office, he often visited the sick at their home as well, in order for the patient to remain comfortable and safe in their own home. Home visits would also allow doctors to survey the environment of the patient and determine if there were potential factors that were contributing to their sickness and could help determine the cause. Taft was the third homeopathic doctor to settle in Hartford and the seventh in the state of Connecticut.

One of his first interactions as the Clemens family physician was in May of 1872 when they telegraphed ahead of their arrival back to Hartford after spending time with Olivia’s family in Elmira, New York. Their first born and only son, Langdon Clemens, had developed a bad cough and he needed to be looked at. A few days later Langdon was diagnosed with diphtheria and died shortly thereafter, five months shy of his second birthday. Dr. Taft often treated the Clemens family members, whether it was youngest daughter Jean’s scarlet fever or Olivia feeling weak and unwell. He was known to be social despite his busy schedule visiting and serving patients throughout Hartford, sometimes staying twenty or thirty minutes after serving his patient to catch up with them.

Doctors were often an integral part of communities and had intimate relationships with many families they treated. The Clemenses had such a relationship with Dr. Taft and when he fell ill himself, Samuel wrote to him: “To my poor mind the first of holy callings is the physician’s; & he should walk before the Pope, & Cardinal, & all the priestly tribe, for he heals all that fall in his way, not merely the chance sufferer here & there...And to my mind, first of all the good physicians is our good physician…” A year later Dr. Taft was ailing once more, and Samuel wrote to him offering to have him carried on a waterbed to their home to escape the noisy celebration of Buckingham Day. The family offered to delay their departure from Hartford for their annual summer trip to Elmira, if they could be in any service to him. Sadly, a few weeks later Dr. Taft died at age 64 due to a stomach ailment.

Taft’s widow, Ellen, wrote to Samuel upset about a New York Times article regarding her husband which she felt focused too much on his autopsy. She implored him, “…I want you, who knew, loved, and appreciated him to write something which will be as pleasant to us to read as the one I alluded to was unpleasant. You knew his tender gentle ways in a sick room, the courage he gave his patients to live, as well as the skill that supported that courage, the blessed cleanliness of his person, and of his attire – How the little children loved him, and how he returned this love.”