Nineteen years after good Captain Coram's
heart had been so touched by the exposure of
children, living, dying, and dead, in his daily
walks, one wing of the existing building was
completed, and admission given to the first
score of little blanks. At that time, any
person who brought a child was directed "to
come in at the outward door and ring a bell
at the inward door, and not to go away until
the child is returned (diseased children were
not admitted), or notice given of its reception.
But no questions whatever will be asked of any
person who brings a child, nor shall any servant
of the house presume to discover who such
person is on pain of being discharged." It
was further desired, that each child should
have some distinguishing mark or token by
which it might be afterwards known, if necessary.
Most of these tokens were small coins,
or parts of coins; sometimes, an old silk
purse was substituted; sometimes, doggrel
verses were pinned to the poor baby's clothes;
once a lottery ticket was so received. The
Hospital chronicles do not record that it
turned up a prize—the blank child was true
to its designation.

As the Hospital became more extensively
known, the numbers of applicants were
enormous. The outward door was besieged
by women who fought and scratched their
way to the bell at the inward door, and
in these disturbances, as in all physical
force proceedings, the strongest were
successful. To put a stop to such scenes, the
little candidates were then admitted by
ballot.

In fifteen years' time from the opening of
the Hospital, the Governors found it necessary
to apply to Parliament for assistance. It
was conceded in such liberal measure, that
it was thought all comers could henceforth
be received. Nursing establishments were
formed in various parts of the country, a
basket was hung outside the Hospital gate,
and an advertisement publicly announced,
that all children under the age of two months
tendered for admission would be received.
The result was, that on the 2nd of June, 1756,
the first day of such indiscriminate reception,
the basket at the gate was filled and emptied
one hundred and seventeen times. Fraudulent
parish officers, married women who were per-
fectly able to maintain their offspring,
parents of depraved and abandoned character
(unconsciously emulative of Jean Jacques
Rousseau), basketed their babies by thousands.
It is almost incredible, but none the less true,
that a new branch of the Carriers' trade was
commenced. Baby-carriers undertook to
convey infants to the all-embracing basket
from distant parts of the country, at so much
per head. One man who had charge of five
infants in baskets, got drunk; and, falling
asleep on a bleak common, found when he
awoke that three of the five were dead. Of
eight infants consigned to a country waggoner,
seven died before he got to London; the
surviving child owing its life solely to its
mother, who followed the waggon on foot
to save it from starvation. Another man,
established in business as a baby-carrier, with
a horse and a pair of panniers, was loud in
his complaints of an opposition man, "who,"
said he, "is a taking the bread out of my
mouth. Before he started, it was eight
guineas a trip per child from Yorkshire.
Now, I've come down a third; next week I
must come down another third; that's the
way trades get ruined by over-competition."
At the time when he made this
representation, he had eight children in his
panniers. Many of these amiable carriers
stripped off such poor clothes as the children
wore, and basketed them without a shred of
covering. It is related among the Hospital
legends, as a remarkable instance of change
of fortune, that a few years ago a rich and
aged banker applied to search the register of
the establishment for such information as it
might afford of his own origin, when all he
could learn was, that he had been taken out
of the basket stark naked. That was his whole
previous history.

During the three years and ten months of
the existence of this system, there were
dropped into the hospital-basket fifteen
thousand children; and so great was the difficulty
of providing for such an enormous influx, and
so little were the necessary precautions understood,
that only four thousand four hundred
of this large number lived to be apprenticed.
So the practice was discontinued, and Heaven
knows, with reason! It is melancholy to
think of the regrets and anxieties of the
gentle Captain Thomas Coram under all these
failures, and more melancholy to know that
he died a very old man, so reduced in
circumstances as to be supported by subscription.
But, though shipwrecked here, the tender-
hearted captain gained a brighter shore, we
will believe, where even foundlings who have
never spoken word on earth, possess their
eloquence.

What genius originated the next idea, we
have not discovered; but the Hospital being
poor again, as well it might be, some bold
spirit proposed that every child that should be
mysteriously presented with a hundred pound
note attached, should be received. The
Governors adopted the inspiration with success;
and this most reprehensible practice actually
continued until the beginning of the present
century. In January 1801, it was abolished,
and the existing rules of admission were
substituted. What these are, may be best
described through our own observation of the
admission of two children who happened to
be brought there by two mothers while we
were inspecting the place.

Each of the mothers had previously rung
the porter's bell to obtain a printed form of
petition to the Governors for the admission
of her child. No petition is allowed to be
issued, except from the porter's lodge: no