In a darkened chamber, whither death, clothed in unwonted horrors, has suddenly come for the fourth victim of that doomed family, lies the subject of our meditations, panting under his iron grasp. The afflictions of her life are now consummated. The husband of her youth, his follies and faults against her, now are forgotten in the bitter thought that _he is dead_, has gone unrepentant to the bar of God to give account of his priesthood--her venerable father-in-law alone, with no friend to cheer his dying agonies, has also departed from earth--her people are defeated in battle, and worse than all, the ark of God is fallen into the hands of the uncircumcised Philistines--who doubtless glory as if Dagon had conquered the invincible Jehovah. What to her are the pangs and throes under which her tortured body labors? She heeds them not. Pitying friends endeavor to rouse her from her dying lethargy, by the most glad tidings a Hebrew woman could learn, "Fear not; for thou hast borne a son!" But she answers not. Shorter and shorter grows her breath--nearer and nearer she approaches the eternal shore. But she is a mother, and though every other tie is sundered, and she is dying of the wounds which the cruel breaking of those heart strings has caused, she feels one cord drawing her to her new-born child, and asks that he may be brought. It is too much! Why was he born? No cheering thought comes with his presence. Nor joy nor honor are in store for him. Call him Ichabod, (without glory) she gasps with feeble accents, "for the glory is departed from Israel: for the ark of God is taken." A moment more and her freed spirit is in His open presence, who she deemed was forever departed from her people. * * * * * Christian friend, you who are walking through desert places, and perhaps fainting under the heavy hand of God, let not your heart fail you. Shrink not back from the path, though it seem beset with thorns. Some good is in store for you. Affliction, indeed, is not for the present joyous but grievous, nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruits of righteousness. If, like the mother of Ichabod, you learn to forsake the turbid waters of earth for the Fountain of eternal love--if you make the Lord your portion, you will not in the end be the loser, though wave on wave roll over you and strip you of every other joy. No, not even if at length your sun shall set in clouds impenetrable to mortal vision. A glorious cloudless morning lies beyond, and you shall be forever satisfied with Him who has chosen you in the furnace of affliction. "Then rouse thee from desponding sleep, Nor by the wayside lingering weep, Nor fear to seek Him farther in the wild, Whose love can turn earth's worst and least Into a conqueror's royal feast; Thou will not be untrue, thou shall not be beguiled." * * * * * Original. FEMALE EDUCATION--PHYSICAL TRAINING.