He talked with his friends and acquaintances, but no one seemed to care. He besought those high in authority, but few seemed to think that foundlings were worth saving. The poor and the disgraced should bear their sorrows alone. Some from all ranks thought the charity a noble one, and wondered that it had been so long neglected; but none gave a penny, or put forth any effort.
"His arguments," wrote Coram's most intimate friend, Dr. Brocklesby, "moved some, the natural humanity of their own temper more, his firm but generous example most of all; and even people of rank began to be ashamed to see a man's hair become gray in the course of a solicitation by which he was to get nothing. Those who did not enter far enough into the case to compassionate the unhappy infants for whom he was a suitor, could not help pitying him."
Captain Coram finally turned to woman for aid, and obtained the names of "twenty-one ladies of quality and distinction" who were willing to help in his project of a foundling asylum. Not all "ladies of quality" were willing to help, however; for in the Foundling Hospital may be seen this note, attached to a memorial addressed to "H.R.H., the Princess Amelia."
"On Innocents' Day, the 28th December, 1737, I went to St. James' Palace to present this petition, having been advised first to address the lady of the bedchamber in waiting to introduce it. But the Lady Isabella Finch, who was the lady in waiting, gave me rough words, and bid me gone with my petition, which I did, without opportunity of presenting it."
Finally Captain Coram's incessant labors bore fruit. On Tuesday, Nov. 20, 1739, at Somerset House, London, a meeting of the nobility and gentry was held, appointed by his Majesty's royal charter to be governors and guardians of the hospital. Captain Coram, now seventy-one years of age, addressed the president, the Duke of Bedford, with great feeling. "My Lord," he said, "although my declining years will not permit me to hope seeing the full accomplishment of my wishes, yet I can now rest satisfied; and it is what I esteem an ample reward of more than seventeen years' expensive labor and steady application, that I see your Grace at the head of this charitable trust, assisted by so many noble and honorable governors."
The house for the foundlings was opened in Hatton Garden in 1741, no child being received over two months old. No questions as to parentage were to be asked; and when no more infants could be taken in, the sign, "The house is full," was hung over the door. Sometimes one hundred women would be at the door with babies in their arms; and when only twenty could be received, the poor creatures would fight to be first at the door, that their child might find a home. Finally the infants were admitted by ballot, by means of balls drawn by the mothers out of a bag. If they drew a white ball, the child was received; if a black ball, it was turned away.
The present Foundling Hospital was begun in 1740, and the western wing finished and occupied in 1745, on the north side of Guilford Street, London, the governors having bought the land, fifty-five acres, from the Earl of Salisbury.
Hogarth, the painter, was deeply interested in Captain Coram's benevolent object. He painted for the hospital some of his finest pictures, and influenced his brother artists to do the same. Hogarth's "March to Finchley" was intended to be dedicated to George II. A proof print was accordingly presented to the king for his approval. The picture gives "a view of a military march, and the humors and disorders consequent thereon."
The king was indignant, and exclaimed, "Does the fellow mean to laugh at my guards?"
"The picture, please your Majesty," said one of the bystanders, "must be considered as a burlesque."