Mr. Comstock did not long survive her. In about one year from the time his wife was taken from her toils his earthly joys and sorrows closed, and he went up on high. Borne down by anxiety, care, and affliction, he died April 24, 1844. He was the third son of Rev. Oliver C. Comstock, of Michigan. He graduated at Hamilton Institution in 1827. For a while he studied and practised law in the city of Rochester, where he was becoming very successful as a counsellor. But God had another station for him to occupy--a wide field of usefulness for him to fill. In the winter of 1831 he was led to view himself as a sinner and embrace Jesus as his Savior. He became a member of the First Baptist Church, and was baptized by his venerated father. Soon he became convinced that the Christian ministry demanded his exertions and powers. He soon removed to Hamilton and entered the theological class, and at once commenced preparing himself for labors in Burmah, and soon went forth to do the will of God in wild and uncultivated regions. But his afflictions were many--his toils great--his years few. He died ere the desire of his heart had been realized. He ascended to heaven ere the field given him to cultivate was seen blossoming as the rose. Called by God, he left the path to earthly honor and distinction and entered the scorned and despised service of the crucified One, and in that service found an early grave. He saw his beloved companion go down to the tomb; he saw two darling babes laid beside her; and, panting for the loved ones, he himself went down into the sepulchre. Here ends the record of a family sacrificed on the altar of Christian benevolence; a record written with tears of sorrow and anguish, yet gleaming with signs of glory; a record which even the cold cynic might respect, and the stoic read with emotions of wonder and admiration. "Patriots have toiled, and in their country's cause Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve, Receive proud recompense. We give in charge Their names to the sweet lyre. The Historic Muse, Proud of the treasure, marches with it down To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn, Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass To guard them and immortalize her trust. But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth, Have fallen in her defence." VIII. HENRIETTA SHUCK, OF CHINA.