School, cottage and open-air services, and to the sick and suffering, of which I had many on my list.  This request was gladly complied with; for the first sight of the stranger made me love and trust him.

And now the hero of so many battles fought for freedom and liberty, was to witness scenes of warfare of a very different kind.  War, it is true, but not where there are garments rolled in blood and victims slain; but war with the powers of darkness, war between good and evil,

truth and error, light and darkness.  We went together into the lowest slums of the district; walked arm in arm over the ground where misery tells its sad and awful tale, where poverty shelters its shivering frame, and where blasphemy howls its curse.  We found out haunts of vice and sin, terrible in their character, and distressing in their consequences.  I found he had not hitherto been accustomed to this kind of mission.  Once on my entering a den of dangerous characters and lecturing them on their sinful course and warning them in unmistakable words of the consequences, he afterwards said: “I could not have found courage of the kind you show in this work; yet I never was considered lacking in courage on the field of battle.  When in the Crimea, I was sent frequently and went on hands and knees through the fall of shells and the whizz of bullets right up to the Russian walls to watch their movements, and I never felt afraid; I confess I need courage to warn men of sin and its dangerous consequences.”  He met me, for a time almost daily, well supplied with tracts, which I noticed he used as a text for a few words of

advice, or comfort, or warning as the case required, but he invariably left a silver coin between the leaves; this I think was a proof he was sincere in his efforts to do good.  Along Old Millgate, and around the Cathedral, at that time, were numerous courts and alleys, obscure, often filthy, dark and dangerous; down or up these he accompanied me; up old rickety staircases, into old crumbling ruins of garrets he followed without hesitation.

At the bedside of the dying prodigal or prostitute he would sit with intense interest, pointing them to Him who casts out none.  In our house to house visitation he would sit down and read of the Saviour’s love, making special reference to those that are poor in this world, assuring them it was for the outcast and the forsaken, and the lost, that Jesus came to die.  He would kneel down for prayer by a broken chair or the corner of a slop-stone, or by the wash-tub, and with the simplicity of a child, address in tender and touching petition, the Great Father of all in Heaven, while tears chased each other down his sun-tanned face; his great soul going out with his prayer for Heaven’s blessing on the helpless poor.

His sympathy was tender as a child’s, and his beneficence as liberal as the best of Christian’s can be.  He often came and took tea with me in my quiet home, where we had many very interesting interviews, and where we conversed on subjects varied but mostly religious; he rarely referred to his military achievements; when he did so it was with the greatest self abnegation and humility.  He would say, “No honour belongs to me, I am only the instrument God uses to accomplish his purpose.”  I introduced him to my ragged school; this to him was a most interesting scene of work, and he volunteered to give us some of his time and service; and to see him with 20 or 30 of these ragged lads about him was to say the least, full of interest.  He, however, had the happy art of getting at their heart at once; by incidents, stories and experiences, which compelled attention and confidence.  In a very short time he won the esteem and the love of every lad in the school.  To some of these lads he became specially attached, and for some time after he left Manchester he kept up with me, and with several of the lads, also with some of my

colleagues on the mission—a very interesting correspondence.  Happily, I have preserved a good number of these letters, and they show the spirit and motive of that noble soul, more than any poor words of mine can do.

Letter.

Gravesend,
June 19th, 1869.

“My Dear Mr. Wardle.—My long silence has not been because I had forgot you and your kind reception of me; but because secular work has so completely taken up my time of late.  I was glad to hear of you . . . . and of the Dark Lane (ragged school) lads.  I often wish I could go down with you and see them; I often think of them.  I wish I could help them, but it is only by prayer that I can now benefit them.  I loved them very much, and look forward to the time when our weary march, dogged by our great foe will be ended; and we meet for ever in our Heavenly home.  I remember them all, Jones, Carr, &c., &c., and I often think of their poor young faces which must soon get deepened into wrinkles with sorrow and care.  Thank God we go like Israel of old, after a new home; we cannot find our rest here!  Day by day we are, little as we may think it, a day’s march nearer, till someday we shall perhaps unexpectedly reach it.”

Good bye, my dear Mr. Wardle,
Yours sincerely,
C. H. Gordon.

   “Kind regards to my lads.”

Gordon was deeply moved by the sights of poverty and distress around him; this was shown by the dress and appearance of the factory hands.  He was especially struck by the clatter of the clogs—the Lancashire cotton operative’s foot gear.

To his Sister he wrote:—

Manchester,
September 21st, 1867.

“Your heart would bleed to see the poor people, though they say there is no distress such as there was some time ago; they are indeed like sheep having no shepherd, but, thank God, though they look forlorn, they have a watchful and pitying eye upon them.  It does so painfully affect me, and I do trust will make me think less of self, and more of these poor people.  Little idea have the rich of other countries of the scenes in these parts.  It does so make me long for that great day when He will come and put all things straight.

How long, O Lord, how long!

I have but little time to write by this post, so will say no more about that.  I have less confidence in the flesh than ever, thank God, though it is a painful struggle and makes one long for the time when, this our earthly tabernacle, shall be dissolved; but may His will be done.  If there is sin and misery, there is One who over-rules all things for good; we must be patient.  The poor scuttlers here, male and

female, fill me with sorrow.  They wear wooden clogs, a sort of sabot, and make such a noise.  Good-bye, and may God manifest Himself in all His power to all of you, and make you to rejoice with joy unspeakable.  If we think of it, the only thing which makes the religion of our Lord Jesus Christ differ from that of every other religion, or profession, is this very indwelling of God the Holy Ghost in our bodies; we can do nothing good; Christ says, “Without me, ye can do nothing.”  You are dead in trespasses and sins, you are