CHAP, xvi FOTHERGILL'S BENEVOLENCE 219 



The philanthropy of Fothergill was of another sort. 

 His benevolence was the fruit of a spirit of pure love 

 which actuated his whole life. It brooded over his home, 

 it infused itself into his daily work as a physician, it 

 bound him to his friends, it went forth to the brethren 

 of his faith, it attached him to his city, it made him one 

 with his country. Beyond the limits of his own land, 

 neither race nor language nor colour put bars to his 

 benevolence he was the friend of man. The strict 

 discipline to which he subjected himself made him fear 

 lest he should minister to his own self-satisfaction by the 

 very thought of doing good much more, by receiving 

 the applause of his deeds. He therefore shunned publicity, 

 did good by stealth, and blushed to find it fame. The 

 modesty of his attitude was dictated also by sympathy 

 with those who were needy, especially with that class 

 of persons who have known better days, and who are 

 deterred by shame or by pride from complaining of their 

 state. The delicacy of his manner enabled him to confer 

 his gifts on such persons so gracefully that no modest 

 worth was wounded. Sometimes he would suggest some 

 motive for his bounty that seemed to make the receiver 

 a claimant and himself only discharging a debt. 



What Fothergill was in his home circle is noted in 

 another chapter. His medical practice, one of the 

 largest of his time, was pursued in a wholly unselfish 

 spirit. From many of his patients he would take no fees, 

 and to the close of his life he set apart some time for 

 attending to the poor without charge. He made a 

 practice of refusing payments from the clergy and 

 ministers of religion unless they were in affluent station, 

 partly that he might show that Quakers did not refuse 

 to pay tithes from motives of parsimony. When some 

 one remonstrated at such refusal in the case of a wealthy 

 dignitary, he replied, " I had much rather return the 

 fee of a gentleman with whose rank I am not perfectly 

 acquainted, than run the risk of taking it from a man 

 who ought perhaps to be the object of my bounty." The 

 wife and children of a London curate on 50 a year were 



