Before the days of literary copyrights and wire services, the editors of American newspapers filled their pages with articles they freely adapted from other sources. While these borrowed pieces could be newsworthy - an editor in rural Pennsylvania had no other way to share important current events from New York or Philadelphia - most of these short articles are what today we’d consider “fillers": little homilies, jokes, and random historical facts, plus reports of unusual weather and two-headed cows.
And then there’s this brief lesson about the perils of making snap judgements based on a person’s appearance.
What makes this one stand out, of course, is that the main character is Eliza Schuyler Hamilton (1757-1854), widow of Gen. Alexander Hamilton. The story was making the rounds of small newspapers in the spring of 1855. Eliza had died the previous November, at the considerable age of 97, and her death was probably still fresh in people’s minds. She was respected not only for her charitable work as the directoress of the New York Orphan Asylum Society, but also as a link to the American Revolution, a woman married to a Founder, and who had known everyone, including George and Martha Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette. The tragic circumstances of her husband’s death were still scandalous two generations later. Coupled with the fact that she never remarried and continued to wear old-fashioned mourning in honor of him (from portraits and descriptions, it appears that she chose to dress in the style of 1804, the year she was widowed) for the remainder of her long life only added to the solemn air of perpetual grief and loss about her.
This version, right, of the story (transcribed with its quirks of spelling and grammar) appeared in the Vermont Christian Messenger, Montpelier, Vermont, on May 16, 1855.
APPERANCES DECEITFUL: Mrs. Alexander Hamilton on a recent visit to N.Y. was arrayed, as usual, in her widow’s weeds of the deepest cast, and those not of the newest or most fashionable pattern. She attended church, and was shown into a pew which was empty. But unexpectedly to the sexton, soon after, the owner and his family came in. Mrs. Hamilton looked like an aged widow, and one who had known poverty as well as bereavement. – Advancing to his pew and holding open the door, the manner of which indicated to her quick eye that she was an unwelcome occupant of the pew. She arose and left it. In a moment a dozen pew doors flew open: gentlemen of the highest rank sprung into the aisle, showing a general rivalry to obtain the honor of her presence in their pew; and the astonished gentleman from whose pew Mrs. H. had been removed, learned her name and position, and also learned that appearances are often deceitful.
While the now-unknown author of this brief scene was probably most intent on delivering the moral at the end, there are enough details to make it seem likely that he was inspired by an actual incident. Although Eliza had lived most of her adult life in New York City, she had moved to Washington DC in 1848 with her daughter Eliza Holley. Eliza had always been an intrepid and independent traveller; however, given her advanced age, it seems unlikely that she would have returned to New York and attended church alone. It’s possible that the story is derived from an earlier incident, when Eliza was younger, or perhaps the accompanying family member or friend wasn’t included to add pathos to the story.
The church filled with “gentlemen of the highest rank” is probably Trinity Church in lower Manhattan, where she and Alexander are now buried side by side. As a one-time member of the congregation, Eliza would have been recognized by the sexton and other members of the congregation, while a newer, younger member might be forgiven for not knowing who she was.
It also sounds very much like Eliza to assess the scene with her “quick eye”, and to choose to retreat with dignity and without making a scene, especially given the setting. She was an indomitable woman, but she knew where to pick her battles. A church pew wouldn’t have been one of them. I only wonder who the hapless gentleman was who expected her to move, and whose pew and hospitality she accepted instead.
Thanks to Chris Woodyard for sharing this newspaper item with me.
Top: Detail, Portrait of Mrs. Alexander Hamilton (Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton) by Daniel Huntington, mid-1800s. National Museum of American History, Smithsonian.
Read more about Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. My latest novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.