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The Children's Tabernacle
“Why, Agnes, what nonsense that is!” cried Lucius, bluntly; “you know, as well as I do, that your clumsy fingers can’t so much as hem a silk handkerchief neatly, and how would they manage embroidery in purple, scarlet, and blue? Your bad work would spoil the whole thing.”
“Don’t you meddle; you don’t know anything about work!” exclaimed Agnes, in a loud, angry tone, which brought on another severe fit of coughing and whooping.
Mrs. Temple was grieved at the ill-temper shown by her eldest daughter, and all the more so as Agnes was in so suffering a state as to make it difficult for a mother to reprove her as she would have done had the girl been in health. The lady had to wait for some time before the cough was quieted enough for her gentle voice to be heard, though Amy had quickly brought a glass of water to help in stopping that cough. When Agnes could breathe freely again, the mother thus addressed her family circle: —
“I should be vexed indeed, my children, if what I proposed as a pleasant and profitable occupation for you all, should become a cause of strife, an occasion for foolish pride and contention. The Tabernacle was in itself a holy thing, made so by the special appointment and presence of the Lord. I would wish the making of its model to be a kind of holy employment, one never to be marred by jealousy and pride. The profits of your labor, if there be any, you mean to devote to helping the poor; therefore I hope that we may consider the work as an offering to the Lord – a very small offering, it is true, but still one which He may deign to accept, if it be made in a lowly, loving spirit; but if selfish, worldly feelings creep in, then good works themselves become evil. The Israelites were expressly forbidden to offer any creature in which there was a blemish or fault, and our offerings are certainly blemished and spoilt if we mix with them jealousy and pride.”
Agnes bit her lip and knitted her brow. She was not without both good sense and good feeling, but she had not yet obtained the mastery over her jealous temper.
“I do not see why Dora should be favored above me,” she murmured.
“Dora is not favored above you,” replied the mother, gravely. “The simple state of the case is this – different talents are given to different persons. You have a good memory, Dora a skilful hand. Were the work in question to be the repeating of a chapter by heart, Dora would never expect to be the one chosen to repeat it. Why should pride make you refuse to own that there are some things in which a younger sister may excel you?”
Agnes hesitated, and glanced at her mother. The girl’s brow was a little clouded still, and yet there were signs that her pride was giving way.
“I leave the decision to your own good sense and feeling, my love,” said Mrs. Temple. “Judge yourself whether, if your desire be to make a really beautiful model worthy of the good object to which we devote it, it would be better to place the embroidery part in Dora’s hands or your own.”
“Let Dora do it,” said Agnes, with a little effort, her eyes filling with tears, for it was hard to her, as it is to most of us, to wrestle down struggling pride.
Mrs. Temple smiled kindly upon her daughter. “One of the most precious lessons which we can learn,” said the mother, “is, in obedience to the command of our Lord, to be willing to be last of all, and servant of all. The sacrifice of our pride and self-will is more pleasing to our Maker than the most costly gifts can be. It is worthy of notice that it was not the outer covering of the Tabernacle, that part which would be seen from every quarter of Israel’s camp, that was most beauteous and precious. The richest curtains were those seen far less often, those that had the lowest place in the building. So our Maker cares far more for what is within than for what is without, and there is no ornament so fair in His eyes as that of a meek and quiet spirit.”
IV.
Precious Things
“I DO not think that the Tabernacle was a grand building, after all,” observed Lucius, “though there is so much written about it in the Bible. Why, it was only about forty-five feet by fifteen – not so large as the chapel at the end of the town, and not for one moment to be compared to the grand cathedral which we all went to see last summer.”
“There is one thing which you perhaps overlook,” said his mother; “when the Tabernacle was raised, the Israelites were a nation of wanderers, and had no fixed habitation. Their Tabernacle was a large, magnificent tent, made to be carried about from place to place by the Levites. Every portion of it was so contrived as to be readily taken to pieces, and then put together again. This could not have been done with a building of very great size.”
“Nobody could carry about the great cathedral, or even the little chapel!” cried Elsie; “but they were never meant to be moved, they are fixed quite firm in the ground.”
“The size of the Tabernacle was indeed not great,” continued Mrs. Temple; “but, besides its being filled with a glory which is never beheld now in any building raised by man, the treasures lavished on it must have given to it a very splendid appearance. It has been calculated that the gold and silver used in making the Tabernacle must alone have amounted in value to the enormous sum of 185,000 pounds!”
Exclamations of surprise were uttered, and Dora remarked – “Why, that would be enough to pay for the building of forty large churches as handsome as the new one which we all admire so much.”
“And the new church holds ten times as many people as the Tabernacle could,” observed Agnes. “I cannot think how a large nation like the Israelites could find space to meet in such a small place, only about twice the size of this room!”
“The Tabernacle was never intended to be to the Israelites what a church is to us,” remarked Mrs. Temple. “In the warm climate of Arabia the people worshipped in the open air, under the blue canopy of the sky; no building to shelter them was required, such as is needful in England. The men of Israel brought their sacrifices to the court of the Tabernacle, where, as you already know, the Altar of burnt-offering and the Laver were placed.”
“But, mamma, what was inside the Tabernacle itself – what was so very carefully kept under those four sets of curtains?” asked Dora.
“The Tabernacle was divided into two rooms by a most magnificent curtain of rich embroidery called the ‘Veil,’” replied Mrs. Temple. “The outer room, which was double the size of the inner, was named the ‘Holy,’ or ‘Sanctuary.’ In this outer room were kept the splendid golden Candlestick with its seven branches, each supporting a lamp which burned all through the night, and the Table of Showbread, on which twelve cakes of unleavened bread were constantly kept – the supply being changed on every Sabbath.”
“Ah! I remember, it was that show-bread which was given to David when he was hungry,” said Lucius, “though it was meant to be eaten only by priests.”
“What other things were in the outer part of the Tabernacle?” asked Agnes.
“There was the Altar of Incense, my love, upon which sweet perfume was daily burned, so that the room was filled with fragrance.”
“You have told us, mamma, what was in the first part of the beautiful Tabernacle; but what was in the very innermost part, the little room beyond the Veil?” asked Amy.
“That little room, about fifteen feet square, was called the ‘Holy of Holies,’ and contained the most precious object of all – the special symbol of the presence of the Most High. That object was the Ark, with its cover of pure gold which was called the ‘Mercy-seat,’ and on which were figures of cherubim, wrought also in gold, with wings outstretched. Over this Mercy-seat, and between the golden cherubim rested the wondrous glory which showed that God was with his people. David, doubtless, referred to this when he wrote in the eighteenth Psalm, ‘Thou that dwellest between the cherubims, shine forth!’”
“And were not precious things laid up in the Ark?” inquired Agnes. “Were not the tables of stone on which the Commandments were written put into it?”
“And the Pot of Manna, kept to remind the people how their fathers were fed in the desert?” said Dora.
“And the wonderful rod of Aaron, that budded, and blossomed, and bore fruit; was not that also in the Ark?” asked Lucius.
“All these most precious and holy things were laid up in the Ark (or as some think in front of the Ark), beneath the golden cherubim,” replied Mrs. Temple.
“Oh, I should have liked above all things to have seen them!” exclaimed little Elsie. “I should have liked to have lifted up the splendid curtain-veil, and to have gone into the Holy of holies – if the light had not been too dazzling bright – and have looked upon all those precious things! Most of all, I’d have liked to see that wonderful Rod of Aaron, if it was the very very same rod that had once been turned into a serpent.”
“Ah, my child, none of us would have dared to have lifted that Veil or to have placed a foot within the Holy of holies!” exclaimed Mrs. Temple. “No mortal was ever suffered to enter that place, most sacred of all, except the High Priest, and that but on one day of the year – the Day of Atonement. Aaron himself, the first High Priest, with trembling awe must have lifted the Veil, and approached the Mercy-seat over which the cherubims spread their wings of gold!”
Mrs. Temple spoke in so solemn a tone that the children felt that the subject was very sacred, and none of them spoke for several moments. Then Lucius observed – “There is now no place on earth into which no one dare enter, like the Holy of holies in the Tabernacle of old.”
“No, my son, because the Veil has been rent in twain, and the Lord Christ, our great High Priest, has opened a free way for all believers, even into the Holy of holies where God dwells in glory for ever!” said Mrs. Temple, with even greater reverence in her manner, and clasping her hands as she spoke.
“Mamma, I cannot understand you!” cried Amy.
“These are the deep things of God, my love, and it is very difficult to explain their meaning to children. The Tabernacle and the things within it were types, or as we may call them, pictures of heavenly mysteries, revealed to us by the Gospel. But we will not enter now upon these difficult subjects. I think that you know a little about the appearance of the Tabernacle of which you are anxious to make a model, and also of what was contained within it. To understand the meaning of that holy place, and of its contents, will require much earnest thought and attention. We may perhaps converse a little about it to-morrow, which is Sunday. You will have abundance of time, as the fear of giving infection to others obliges me to keep you from going to church.”
V.
Preparation
“I WISH that to-morrow were any day but Sunday!” exclaimed Lucius. “Just when one is setting about a long work, eager to measure and to make, to cut and to clip, it is vexatious to have to stop in the middle of business, to shove away knife, ruler, pencil, pasteboard, and all, into a drawer for the next twenty-four hours!”
“Perhaps it would be better not to begin the work at all until Monday,” mildly suggested his mother.
“O no, we’ve all the Saturday afternoon, let’s set to making our model at once!” exclaimed Lucius.
“Please, please, don’t make us put off!” cried Dora and Elsie.
Mrs. Temple was a very indulgent mother, and was inclined to be all the more so as every one of her children was either suffering from whooping-cough or just recovering from its effects. Their mother felt sorry at the necessity for shutting out her family from many of their usual occupations and pleasures, and even from the privilege of going to church. The lady did not, therefore, in the least press the subject of delay, but offered, as soon as early dinner should be over, to go and search in her drawers and boxes for such materials as she might think suitable for the model of the Tabernacle, which her children were so eager to make. The dinner-bell sounded while Mrs. Temple was speaking, and the family went together to the room in which they took all their meals, and gathered round the table which was spread with a plentiful, though plain repast.
While the young Temples are engaged with their dinner, let me introduce them a little more individually to my reader. There, at the bottom of the table, is Lucius, a sunburnt, pleasant-looking schoolboy, with a mass of brown, half-curly locks brushed back from his forehead. He has quick eyes and restless hands, which are seldom perfectly still, even if they have no better occupation than that of tying and untying a morsel of string; but they are now busily plying a large knife and fork, for Lucius is a skilful carver, and the joint of mutton is placed before him, from which to help all the party.
The pale girl seated on the right of Lucius, with eyes weak and reddened by the effect of her cough, is Agnes, the elder of the twins. Her brow is furrowed, perhaps from the same cause, perhaps because she is more irritable in temper than her brother and sisters. But Agnes is a conscientious girl, one who thinks much of duty: and we may hope that “prayer and pains,” which it has been well said can do anything, will give her the mastery over faults against which she is trying to struggle.
Opposite to Agnes sits Dora, who, though her twin, is not much like her, being a good deal taller, prettier, and more animated than she. Dora is a much greater favorite with Lucius and the younger girls than the elder twin, from being gay, obliging, and clever. Agnes is perfectly aware that such is the case, and has to pray and strive against the sin of jealousy, which is too ready to creep into her heart and poison all her enjoyments.
On either side of Mrs. Temple are her two younger daughters, Amy and Elsie. The former, with soft brown eyes and long flaxen hair tied with blue ribbons, is strikingly like her mother, who has, at least so think her children, the sweetest face in the world. Amy has never been known to quarrel or utter an angry word, and is always ready to give help to any one who needs it. It is no wonder that so gentle a girl is beloved. But Amy knows herself to be by no means faultless, and is much, on her guard against the silly vanity which a mother’s watchful eye has found out to be lurking in the mind of her dear little girl.
Elsie is a merry blue-eyed child, full of life and intelligence, forward – rather too forward for her age. She has for six years held the place of baby in the home of her widowed mother, and her family are rather disposed to indulge her as if she were a baby still. She enters with animation into the amusements of the elder children, and is by no means disposed to be seen and not heard, as Lucius often laughingly tells her that such little people should be.
The conversation during dinner was almost entirely on the subject of the model, and flowed on pleasantly enough, except when interrupted by coughing; but all the children were glad when meal-time was over, and their mother, with Amy and Elsie skipping before her, went off to hunt over her little stores for such materials as might be found useful. Lucius employed the time of their absence in exploring the lumber-room for tops of old boxes or other bits of wood that might, when fastened together, do for the ground-frame of the model, into which the gilded pillars might be fixed. Dora, with pencil and paper, busied herself in trying to make an embroidery pattern, introducing the figures of cherubim. Agnes, who was too weak for much exertion, and who took less keen interest in the work than did her sisters, lay on the sofa reading a book, until the return of Amy and Elsie, each of whom carried some little treasure in her hands.
“Look, Agnes, look at these shining reels of gold and silver thread!” exclaimed the youngest child with eager delight.
“Gold thread – ah! that’s just what I want!” cried Dora, throwing down her pencil.
“And here is mamma’s book of gold leaf; there is a little gold sheet between every one of the pages,” continued Elsie. “But oh! it is so thin, so very thin, one dare not breathe near, or the gold would all fly away!”
“I thought that gold was a very heavy metal,” observed Agnes, looking up from her book.
“But it is beaten out into such extreme fineness that a bit of gold no larger than a pea would gild all these,” said Lucius, who had just entered the room with his arms full of pieces of wood.
“See, Agnes, what we have brought for you!” cried Amy. “Here is a beautiful piece of blue merino for the outer curtains (the badgers’-skin cover, you know), and blue silk with which to sew it; and here is another piece of mohair for the goats’-skin cover, so you are supplied directly with everything that you need; is not that nice?”
Agnes did not look so much delighted as her sister expected that she would; perhaps because she was scarcely well enough to take much pleasure in sewing; perhaps because she had still a lingering feeling of mortification at not having been trusted with the embroidery part of the work.
“I hope that you have brought me the fine linen for the beautiful inner curtains, and the veil for the Holy of holies,” cried Dora.
“No, mamma cannot find any linen fine enough, unless she were to tear up her handkerchiefs, and that would be a pity,” said Amy. “But mamma has promised to buy some linen both for your curtains and for mine that are, you know, to hang all round the open court of the Tabernacle.”
“It is very tiresome to have to stop at the beginning for want of fine linen!” exclaimed Dora. “I hope that mamma will go out and buy us plenty at once.”
“Ah! Dora, you know that mamma owned this morning that she felt very tired,” said Amy, a little reproachfully; “and the shops are a good way off; it is not as if we lived in the town.”
“Besides, it is raining,” observed Elsie, who was looking out of the window.
“It is merely a little drizzle, that would not hurt a fly!” exclaimed Dora. “Mamma never minds a few tiny drops when she puts on her waterproof cloak.”
“Mamma never minds anything that has only to do with her own comfort,” observed Amy.
“So there is more need that we should mind for her,” said Agnes.
“I’m sure that I wish that I could go to the shops myself without troubling, any one!” exclaimed the impatient Dora. “If it were not for this stupid, tiresome infection, I’d get Lucius to go with me this minute, and would we not return laden with linen, pasteboard, and all sorts of things! But mamma’s fear of setting other people coughing and whooping makes her keep us shut up here in prison.”
“Mamma is quite right!” exclaimed Lucius. “I say so, though I hate more than you do being boxed up here in the house.”
“Mamma is quite right,” re-echoed poor Agnes, as soon as she recovered voice after another violent fit of coughing, which almost choked her. “I should not like to give any one else such a dreadful complaint as this.”
Mrs. Temple now entered the room, with several things in her hand. “I have found a nice bit of red Turkey cloth,” said she, “so my little Elsie will be able to set to work on her curtains at once.”
The child clapped her hands with pleasure, and then scampered off for her little Tunbridge-ware work-box.
“I hope that you have found the linen too, mamma,” cried Dora; “I am in a hurry for it, a very great hurry,” she added, regardless of an indignant look from Agnes, and a pleading one from Amy.
“I am sorry that I have no suitable linen,” replied the lady, “but I intend to go out and buy some.”
“Not to-day, not now, it is raining; you are tired,” cried several voices; that of Dora was, however, not heard amongst them.
“I have here some pasteboard, though not sufficient for our model, and a bottle of strong gum which will be most useful,” said the lady, placing on the table what she had brought; “but gilt paper will be needed as well as gold leaf, and of it I have none; I must procure that, and some more pasteboard for my dear boy.”
“And plenty of wire, cut into five-inch lengths for the pillars,” added Lucius.
“And linen for Amy and me,” joined in Dora.
“But please buy nothing till Monday,” said Agnes; “the work can wait quite well for a couple of days.”
“Yes, yes, do wait till Monday,” cried the other children; Dora again being the only exception.
Dora’s selfishness was marring her offering, as Agnes’s pride had blemished hers. How difficult it is even in the most innocent pleasure, even in the most holy occupation, to keep away every stain of sin! Ever since the sad time when evil entered the beautiful garden of Eden, and Adam and Eve ate of the fruit which God had forbidden them to taste, pride, selfishness, and unholiness have been natural to the human heart. Even when we most earnestly try to do what we think good works, how much we need to be on our guard lest sin creep in to spoil all!
Dora, though silent, showed so plainly by her looks her extreme impatience to be supplied at once with the materials for which she could have so easily waited that her gentle mother made up her mind to gratify the wish of her daughter. Mrs. Temple put on her waterproof cloak, and, tired as she was, went forth on a shopping expedition. It vexed the children to see that the clouds grew darker and the shower fell more heavily not long after their mother had quitted the house.
“If mamma catches cold or has pain in her face it is all Dora’s fault!” exclaimed Lucius.
“It was so selfish – so silly not to wait,” observed Agnes; “just see how the rain is pouring!”
“I love mamma as much as any of you do!” cried Dora, her heart swelling with vexation, so that she could hardly refrain from tears.
“You love yourself better, that’s all,” remarked Lucius; and his words were more true than polite.
Mrs. Temple returned home very much tired and rather wet, notwithstanding her umbrella and waterproof cloak. And Dora was, after all, disappointed of her wish to have the linen and begin her embroidery work directly. Mrs. Temple had found it difficult to carry home parcels when she had an umbrella to hold up on a windy day, and had also feared that goods might get damp if taken through driving rain. The wire, pasteboard, gold-paper, and linen were to be sent home in the evening, and the longed-for parcel did not appear until it was time for the twins to follow their younger sisters to bed.
VI.
Types
THIS well-known hymn was on Amy’s mind when she awoke on the following day, and it rose from her heart like the sweet incense burnt every morning in the Tabernacle of Israel. But Dora’s thoughts on waking, and for some time afterwards, might be summed up in the words – “Oh, I wish that this day were not Sunday! How tiresome it is, when my beautiful pattern is all ready, not to be able to try it!”
Mrs. Temple did not appear to be much the worse for her shopping in the rain. Her children knew nothing of the aching in her limbs and the pain in her face which she felt, as she bore both quietly and went about her duties as usual. Dora did not trouble herself even to ask if her mother were well. It was not that Dora did not love her kind parent, but at that time the mind of the little girl was completely taken up by her embroidery in scarlet, purple, and blue.
As the children might not go to church, Mrs. Temple read and prayed with them at home, suffering none but Lucius to help her, and letting him read but little, for fear of bringing back his cough.
All through the time of prayers, though Dora knelt like the rest of the children, and was as quiet and looked almost as attentive as any, her needlework was running in her mind. If she thought of the happy cherubim, it was not of their crying “Holy, holy, holy!” in heaven, but of the forms of their faces and wings, and how she could best imitate such with her needle.
I will not say that the other children thought about the Tabernacle only as a holy thing described in the Bible, from which religious lessons could be learnt, – little plans for sewing, measuring, or making the model would sometimes intrude, even at prayer-time; but Lucius had resolutely locked up his knife, and he and three of his sisters at least tried to give full attention to what their mother was speaking when she read and explained the Word of God.
