His scribbling propensities probably did some good, for in 1757 we find him taking up the cause of that very meritorious charity, the Marine Society, to which he was a subscriber to the extent of fifteen guineas. This society, whose house is in Bishopsgate Street, is still alive, and, what is more, flourishing. About this he wrote four or five pamphlets and books. This seems only to have served as a whet to his appetite for philanthropy, for in 1758 he paid £50 to qualify himself as a Life-Governor of the Foundling Hospital. This, naturally, led him to think upon the source whence the foundlings principally came: and he turned his attention towards the foundation of a Magdalen (?) Hospital, which was, with the cooperation of several gentlemen, established in London in 1758, in Great Prescott Street, Goodman’s Fields (the site of which is now, or used to be, called Magdalen Row). Many more books and pamphlets on the above subjects, the Foundling Hospital, the Marine and Stepney Societies, the Encouragement of British Troops, etc., occupied his leisure until 1760, when he took in hand the social question of giving fees, or _vails_, to servants, and wrote two pamphlets on the subject. In one of them are some very humorous stories of this absurd custom, one, especially, which from its raciness has become somewhat hackneyed.[84] ‘It is a more _humorous_ Story they tell of ---- after he had dined with ----. The Servants with assiduous duty had taken the best care of his friend’s _Hat_, _Sword_, _Cane_, _Cloak_, and among the rest his _Gloves_ also. When he came to demand them, every Servant, with the most submissive respect, brought his part of the Old Gentleman’s _personal furniture_, and so many _Shillings_ were distributed with his usual liberality; but, as he was going away without his _Gloves_, one of the Servants reminded him of it, to which he answered, “_No matter, friend, you may keep the Gloves, they are not worth a Shilling._”’ Hanway tried to do away with this social tax, which, however, remains to this day. But a very good story is told of Robert Hamilton of Kilbrachmont.[85] ‘After a party at Kellie Castle the guests were passing through the Hall where the servants were drawn up to receive their vails, in those days a customary exaction at great houses. The gifts of those who preceded “Robbie” (as the Laird was commonly called) drew forth no expression of gratitude, not even a smile, but when his turn came for performing the ceremony their features were at once lighted up with something even approaching to a laugh. ‘“What did you give the fellows, Robbie?” said his friends, when they got outside; “they looked as sour as vinegar till your turn came.” ‘“Deil a bawbee they got frae me,” said Robbie, “I just kittled their loof.”’[86]