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_.