Thomas Coram, Gent, 1668–1751, by Gillian Wagner (Woodbridge: Boydell P., 2004; pp. 218. £25). Gillian Wagner's biography of Thomas Coram, published to coincide with the opening of a museum of the Foundling Hospital in Bloomsbury, offers a rich insight into the culture and mental world of Hanoverian England. Handel and Hogarth are among the luminaries who flit across its pages, personalities are given life in engaging pen-portraits, and the evocation of London is by turns charmingly vivid and unsparing in its more harrowing detail. All this is encased in the life story of a man whose tireless spirit moved him from West County shipyards, through innumerable clashes with those who failed to share his vision, to implant humanitarian sensibilities in an age long thought to have turned its eyes away from pity. The Foundling Hospital, opened in March 1741, was his own magnum opus. It showed how dextrously Coram had exposed a social injustice—the horrific number of babies left abandoned in the streets to die—and generated a consciousness within polite society, with petitioning on a professional scale, and the courtship of aristocratic ladies, as the most effective source of patronage. Wagner's key point is that Britain was nearly deprived of the fruits of Coram's labours: throughout the greater part of his life his ambitions were channelled towards America, where he had ventured as a young man to work in the shipyards. He took a Bostonian wife, immersed himself in the schemes for colonial settlement, and, on successive occasions, came close to emigrating. His image is captured in glass in the Episcopalian church at Taunton, Massachusetts. Unearthing previously overlooked correspondence, Wagner shows how her subject's hopes became harnessed to a personal manifesto for the colonies, seeking to inject Anglicanism and civil government, provide a refuge for persecuted Protestants, and secure the education of native Indians. America, in all its inchoate potential, would become the laboratory for ideas that Coram wished to see introduced in the mother country; it colluded with his incurable streak of adventure. The Foundling Hospital took the place of these thwarted designs: not a distraction, but the new vehicle to promote his muscular worldview, building upon the entrée into government and society that his colonial projects had bequeathed. Coram wished to make his country the greatest force for the advancement of humanity, an example in splendour, enterprise and piety. As he was appalled by French incursions into America, so he felt affronted by superior provision for the vulnerable in Catholic countries. By turning what he called ‘my darling project’ into a monument to Britain's benevolent power, he wove the culture of philanthropy into a wider sense of imperial, Protestant virtu. The Hospital's concerts, with music composed by Handel, its collection of art on patriotic themes, and its aptitude for publicity, left him a fine tribute. A number of elements within this book demand greater investigation. The exporting of loyalist, Anglican rhetoric into America by English mercantilists, and the influence of Coram's allies in the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge would benefit from scrutiny; likewise the genesis of his interest in female education. It is in the colourful vignettes that this biography excels, taking the reader through some spine-tingling descriptions of children brought in on the first night of the Hospital's opening, to the cruel lotteries through which babies were accepted or discarded, to the tortuous path through which the Hospital established itself, against the clumsy hand of government, the asperity of moralists and satirists, and its own internal scandals. At its heart is an arresting sense of the tenacity that guided Coram, childless himself, towards the rescue and redemption of society's most wretched. Wagner's work might be read in conjunction with the broader studies of Georgian imperial culture by Linda Colley and Kathleen Wilson, but it provides a satisfying and moving narrative in itself. Close to death, living off the subscription of friends, and neglected by the glittering characters who had brought substance to his dream, Coram would still be seen standing in the grounds of his Hospital, beset by compassionate tears as he gave gingerbread to its young inhabitants. Uncomfortable in the court environment, anxious at betraying his lack of education, he surmounted these constraints to leave a remarkable legacy. It was partly through his labours that charitable endeavour became formidably organised, endowed with formal status, and made, above all, fashionable, as an extension of politics and the arts. Few reading this biography will doubt that America's loss was England's gain.