It was largely for this reason that “applications for the children always greatly exceeded the number to be placed out.”
The indenture lasted until the girl reached the age of eighteen, at which time she was entitled to receive her freedom from servitude, along with “two suits of clothes, one proper for Sunday, the other for domestic business.” In later years, this stipulation was revised. Instead of clothing, the girl was to be given fifty dollars upon her release. In theory, at least, the arrangement was advantageous for everyone. The indentured girls obtained the “incalculable benefits” of a “permanent home,” “thorough instruction in domestic affairs,” and the sort of moral guidance “that youth requires.” In return, their mistresses received dutiful “apprentices” to help around the house.
In reality, of course, things didn’t always work out quite so well. Many “apprentices” suffered from abusive treatment at the hands of tyrannical mistresses. And some of the girls gave their adoptive families legitimatecause for complaint. In spite of years of instruction, there were girls who remained hopelessly recalcitrant, causing their new families “much trouble and anxiety.” According to the regulations, no child could be given back to the orphanage once an indenture was signed. In later years, however, this rule appears to have been relaxed, and dissatisfied families were permitted to return the girls after a brief trial period, as though each orphan came with a thirty-day, money-back guarantee. The official records of the asylum (preserved at the Massachusetts State Library) contain numerous entries like the following:
The Committee reported that Agnes Alexander, who had been living on trial with Mrs. Josephson in Newton, had been returned to the Asylum during the month, Mrs. Josephson having found it impossible to bear with her any longer.
The Committee reported that Louise Ostman had been returned to the Asylum by Mrs. Bartlett, who made complaints of her temper.
Agnes Parker was returned to the Asylum by Dr. and Mrs. Mill with complaints of her stupidity and untruthfulness.
On balance, however, it was generally acknowledged that the asylum had fulfilled its mission with admirable success. “It is unquestionable,” wrote its official historian, “that much wretchedness has been relieved, and much suffering and exposure to vice prevented.” If a certain percentage of the girls remained“unworthy,” that was only to be expected. After all, “what human means have ever produced all the good results which the sanguine have anticipated?” Besides, the historian added, if all the effort expended on them had failed to improve their character, it was legitimate to wonder how much worse they would have been without it—what kind of viciously depraved creatures they would have turned into without the elevating influences of the Boston Female Asylum.
• • •
The asylum had been performing its charitable mission for more than half-a-century when, in early February 1863, a hard-luck case named Peter Kelley showed up at the institution with his two youngest daughters in tow: eight-year-old Delia Josephine and her six-year-old sister, Honora. The shabbily dressed Kelley—who gave off a powerful whiff of rotgut—was looking to dispose of the children, his wife, Bridget, having died of consumption several years earlier.
Though certifiable facts about him are sparse, it is clear from existing records that Kelley was a chronic drunk, prone to violent outbursts and so wildly eccentric that his neighborhood nickname was “Kelley the Crack” (as in “crackpot”). In later years, he would become the subject of bizarre legends. According to the most colorful of these, he eventually went insane, and—while working in a tailor shop—sewed his own eyelids shut.
The story is undoubtedly apocryphal, though it apparently reflected the prevailing perception of him as a frighteningly
The indenture lasted until the girl reached the age of eighteen, at which time she was entitled to receive her freedom from servitude, along with “two suits of clothes, one proper for Sunday, the other for domestic business.” In later years, this stipulation was revised. Instead of clothing, the girl was to be given fifty dollars upon her release. In theory, at least, the arrangement was advantageous for everyone. The indentured girls obtained the “incalculable benefits” of a “permanent home,” “thorough instruction in domestic affairs,” and the sort of moral guidance “that youth requires.” In return, their mistresses received dutiful “apprentices” to help around the house.
In reality, of course, things didn’t always work out quite so well. Many “apprentices” suffered from abusive treatment at the hands of tyrannical mistresses. And some of the girls gave their adoptive families legitimatecause for complaint. In spite of years of instruction, there were girls who remained hopelessly recalcitrant, causing their new families “much trouble and anxiety.” According to the regulations, no child could be given back to the orphanage once an indenture was signed. In later years, however, this rule appears to have been relaxed, and dissatisfied families were permitted to return the girls after a brief trial period, as though each orphan came with a thirty-day, money-back guarantee. The official records of the asylum (preserved at the Massachusetts State Library) contain numerous entries like the following:
The Committee reported that Agnes Alexander, who had been living on trial with Mrs. Josephson in Newton, had been returned to the Asylum during the month, Mrs. Josephson having found it impossible to bear with her any longer.
The Committee reported that Louise Ostman had been returned to the Asylum by Mrs. Bartlett, who made complaints of her temper.
Agnes Parker was returned to the Asylum by Dr. and Mrs. Mill with complaints of her stupidity and untruthfulness.
On balance, however, it was generally acknowledged that the asylum had fulfilled its mission with admirable success. “It is unquestionable,” wrote its official historian, “that much wretchedness has been relieved, and much suffering and exposure to vice prevented.” If a certain percentage of the girls remained“unworthy,” that was only to be expected. After all, “what human means have ever produced all the good results which the sanguine have anticipated?” Besides, the historian added, if all the effort expended on them had failed to improve their character, it was legitimate to wonder how much worse they would have been without it—what kind of viciously depraved creatures they would have turned into without the elevating influences of the Boston Female Asylum.
• • •
The asylum had been performing its charitable mission for more than half-a-century when, in early February 1863, a hard-luck case named Peter Kelley showed up at the institution with his two youngest daughters in tow: eight-year-old Delia Josephine and her six-year-old sister, Honora. The shabbily dressed Kelley—who gave off a powerful whiff of rotgut—was looking to dispose of the children, his wife, Bridget, having died of consumption several years earlier.
Though certifiable facts about him are sparse, it is clear from existing records that Kelley was a chronic drunk, prone to violent outbursts and so wildly eccentric that his neighborhood nickname was “Kelley the Crack” (as in “crackpot”). In later years, he would become the subject of bizarre legends. According to the most colorful of these, he eventually went insane, and—while working in a tailor shop—sewed his own eyelids shut.
The story is undoubtedly apocryphal, though it apparently reflected the prevailing perception of him as a frighteningly
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