THE TWINS
[Illustration] "THESE types are really beginning to be quite plain to
me now, mother," said Lucius, "and they make the Old Testament seem
to me to be very much more beautiful than it ever seemed before. I
remember how puzzled I have been by some words in one of the Epistles
about the rock which Moses smote in the desert, and from which the
waters gushed out. St. Paul wrote 'that Rock was Christ,' and I never
could make out what he meant, for how could the rock be the Lord? But
now I understand, at least I think that I do, that the Apostle meant
'that smitten rock was a TYPE of Christ,' and so everything becomes
plain.
"But can one object be a type of more than one thing, mamma? For
there is something which we have just spoken of as being a type of what
heals our souls—I mean by that, true living faith in the Lord; and I
have thought of something quite different, of which it seems also a
type."
"Are you speaking of the river Jordan?" asked Agnes, through whose mind
the same thought had been passing.
"Yes, the river in which Naaman dipped seven times and was cleansed,"
replied Lucius. "When the Israelites, after their long wanderings in
the desert, came to that same river Jordan, there was nothing but its
waters between them and the Promised Land, which mother told me to-day
is a type of heaven."
"And the waters were divided to let the people pass over quite easily
and safely," interrupted little Elsie, who never missed an opportunity
of bringing out any knowledge which she had gleaned.
"Hush, Elsie! You distract my thoughts," said her brother, "and make me
forget with your prattle what I was going to say. Oh, it is this! When
Christians have almost got over their long life-journey, there is only
one thing at last that divides them from heaven, their Promised Land;
and that thing is death. Mother, is not Jordan a type of death?"
"I believe that it is," said his mother.
And Amy silently thought of those beautiful verses which allude to this
type:—
"Oh! could we bid our doubts remove,
Those gloomy doubts that rise,
And view the Canaan that we love
With Faith's unclouded eyes;
"Could we but stand where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er,
'Nor Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,'
Could fright us from the shore."
"I also believe," continued Mrs. Temple, "that the dividing of the
waters, which enabled the Israelites to pass over without so much as
wetting their feet, is type of the terrors of death being taken away
from the Christian. Safe through the atoning sacrifice, and happy
in the love of his Lord, the believer can peacefully pass on to his
promised land—heaven—with as little cause for fear as the Israelites
had in crossing the dry bed of the Jordan."
"Ah! The Israelites were a happy people," said Amy softly. "Think of
their having God always to guide them by the pillar of fire and cloud,
and holy Moses always to pray for them; and the beautiful promised land
Canaan before them, and so many wonderful miracles worked for their
good! I almost wish," she added, "that I had lived in those days."
[Illustration: THE ALTAR OF BURNT-OFFERING.]
"Happier are Christians in these days, my child," said her mother,
"for they know more, far more, of the Saviour's love than was ever
made known to the people of Israel. We have God's sure Word to guide
us in our wanderings through the desert of life, and we have beyond
that desert a far brighter laud than Canaan, even heaven, promised and
purchased by Him who prepares good things for those who love Him; and
we have One far greater than Moses—One who ever liveth to plead for us
at the right hand of God while we fight our battles against sin.
"Moses was a being of flesh and blood as we are; his arms grew tired,
he needed to have them held up by Aaron and Hur; but the Lord Jesus
in praying for His people never grows weary, and His love never grows
cold. My children, when life was most like a desert to me, when your
father had crossed the Jordan and left me behind, I cannot tell you
what comfort and support I found in the knowledge of Christ's prayer
and the thought of Christ's love!"
Mrs. Temple's voice faltered, and Amy felt the hand which she was
clasping tremble. Their mother now very seldom gave way to any outward
burst of sorrow in the presence of her children; her manner was usually
cheerful and bright. But the elder ones could well remember how great
had been her grief in the first sad days of her widowhood, when their
father's useful life had been closed by a peaceful death. The young
Temples all respected their mother's sorrow, and when she paused from
emotion, the room was so still that the crackling of the fire and the
tick of the clock were the only sounds to be heard.
But Mrs. Temple was not willing to throw even a brief shadow over
the cheerfulness of her little family circle, and would not now have
given way to her feelings had not bodily weariness and pain made her
less able to control them. She very quickly recovered her usual tone,
and said, in her wonted cheerful manner, "My little Elsie's eyes are
growing sleepy, she can hardly manage to keep them open! My birdie had
better fly up to her snug warm nest, and prepare by a good long rest
for a busy to-morrow."
"Oh yes, to-morrow will indeed be a busy day!" exclaimed Lucius. "I
mean to be up with the lark. I hope, mother," he added, "that you won't
mind the noise of my hammer?"
Mrs. Temple with a smile assured her boy that she would not mind
anything. She had not been a mother so long without becoming accustomed
to noise, and she would be just as much interested in the progress of
the work of her children as they themselves could be.
"You will like me to get on with my little red curtains?" said Elsie,
in rather a drowsy tone.
A fond kiss was the mother's reply; and then Mrs. Temple herself took
her youngest child up to her bedroom, for she always liked to hear
Elsie repeat her evening prayer.
About an hour afterwards all the other young Temples had wished their
mother good-night, and retired to the rooms in which they slept. The
twins shared the same room. It was a very pretty one, adorned with
framed pictures painted by their Aunt Theodora, and lighted by candles
in elegant green glass candlesticks, which had been a birthday present
to them from their mother. Both the girls were, on the night in
question, more silent than usual, but from different causes.
As Agnes sat slowly brushing out her long plaits of brown hair, stopped
every now and then by her cough, her thoughts dwelt much on the subject
of the Israelites and their journey through the wilderness, which she
was now taught to regard, not only as a historical fact, but also as a
type of the life-journey of Christians.
Agnes was not by natural disposition so merry and light-hearted as
were her brother and sisters, and this difference between her and the
rest of the family was all the more marked at the time of which I am
writing, from the health of the elder twin being a good deal shaken
by her illness. She had naturally a peevish, passionate temper, which
greatly marred her own peace of mind, and which prevented her from
winning much love from her young companions. She had many faults, and
she knew that she had them: they were to her a trouble and burden. The
young girl honestly wished to get rid of and conquer these faults, but
she wanted energy and spirit to make a really good battle against her
besetting sins. She was too much disposed to conclude that because she
was ill-tempered, she must always continue ill-tempered, that there was
no use in striving to subdue her evil nature.
The elder twin was wont to feel vexed and to look sullen because Lucius
never cared to sit and chat with her as he would with Dora; and because
Elsie never threw her arms round her neck as she would round Amy's. It
grieved her to notice that no one ever called her "pet," or seemed to
take delight in having her near.
"I know that it is partly my own fault," she would often say to
herself, in bitterness of soul; "but I don't think that if I were to
leave home for months, there is any one but mamma who would miss me or
want me back."
Such thoughts had only the effect of making the poor girl's temper more
cross, and her manner more peevish; it is so hard for the face to look
bright and sweet when gloom is within the heart.
But better thoughts were in her mind on that Sunday night, as she sat
silently brushing her hair. Sweet and comforting was the reflection
that she was not left to fight her battle alone, that there was One
who would not only hear her prayer, but who would Himself pray for His
feeble child—who would both watch her struggle against sin, and give
her strength in that struggle. It was sweet to poor Agnes, when she
afterwards knelt down to pray by the side of her bed, to feel that if
she was, like an Israelite, bitten by the serpent of sin, she knew
where to look for a cure; that if she was like Naaman the leper, there
was the Fountain open to her, in which she could wash and be clean.
Hope had sprung up in her heart, and with hope came increase of
courage. Agnes remembered that the Lord who had supplied all the need
of the Israelites could supply hers also; and when temptations assailed
her, as the enemy assailed that people, could make her also mere than
conqueror through the power of His Holy Spirit.
Very, very different were the thoughts passing through the mind of
Dora, though outwardly she was doing exactly the same things as were
done by her twin sister. Dora was "not" making a brave battle against
inward sin, but was, like a coward and traitor, going over to the
enemy's side. It is true that she still intended to unpick on the
Monday morning all that she had sown on the Sunday afternoon; but this
resolve was made on the false principle of punishing herself for the
sin which she would not honestly confess, and of which she had never
truly repented. This idea of self-inflicted punishment was merely her
contrivance for quieting conscience, that conscience which had been
very uneasy during the conversation on the subject of leprosy, the
terrible type of sin. But Dora was trying, and with tolerable success,
to banish from her mind all thought of that conversation. It was far
more pleasant to think of the pattern of the Tabernacle curtains than
of the holy things of which that Tabernacle should remind us.
A great many persons—even grown-up persons—act, alas! like Dora. They
so fix their attention on outward things in religion that they quite
overlook the inward meaning. Such self-deceivers are ready enough to
work at what pleases the eye and amuses the fancy, and believe that
they are making an offering to God; but the cleansing of the heart, the
giving up sin—these are duties which they shrink from, and which they
willingly put off to "a more convenient season."