This speech was followed by a burst of acclamation from those to whom it was particularly addressed.  Similar shouts of applause resounded from different quarters of the spacious field, while our aetherial attendants, Gratitude and Admiration, who followed each speaker at the close of each address to different divisions of this innumerable assembly, displayed, to each division in its turn, an extensive sketch of a simple but magnificent mausoleum to the memory of Howard, in the form of an English lazaretto.  On the first display of this striking and worthy monument, the applauding multitude seemed to exult in the prospect of its completion.  But I soon observed, to my inexpressible concern, that while Gratitude and Admiration were busy in exciting the various ranks of the vast assembly, to accomplish this favourite design, they were followed by two earthy fiends of a dark and malignant influence:  these were Detraction and Indifference, who shed such a chill and depressive mist around them, that all the ardour of the Assembly seemed to sink.  Among the miscellaneous crowds that were visible between the divisions of the martial host, there ran a murmur of obloquy and derision against the pure object of public veneration.  He was reviled as a whimsical Reformer, and a rash Enthusiast, who had absurdly sacrificed his life in a vain and fantastic pursuit.  This base spirit of calumnious malignity was not communicated to any one division of the martial multitude; but the universal zeal for the glory of Howard seemed to be almost annihilated; even Gratitude and Admiration appeared to grow faint in their darling purpose.  During their languor, they suffered their sketch of the Mausoleum to be gradually stolen from their hands, and to drop upon the ground.  At this moment a sudden and violent earthquake was felt through all the extensive scene.  The centre of the vacant area opened—­it threw forth a phantom terrific and enormous—­its magnitude seemed to grow upon the sight; its lineaments were shrouded from our view by an immense mantle, on which were represented a thousand different and hideous images of Death.  Its name was Contagion—­it rushed forward with an indescribable movement.  Dismay and confusion overwhelmed all that quarter of the crowded scene, that was particularly threatened by its first advance.  The affrighted multitude rolled back like a tumultuous sea.  The horrid spectre stopt; and left a wide interval between itself and the retiring host.  A ray of heavenly light illumined the vacant space.  I fixed my eye on the brilliant spot, and soon beheld the meek and gentle form of Howard advancing, without fear or arrogance, towards the terrific Phantom.  With an untrembling hand he seized the dark folds of its extensive mantle, and seemed animated with the hope of annihilating the Monster.  In the instant, a burst of celestial splendor was spread over the gloomy plain.  The Angel of Retribution descended; and snatching the consummate Philanthropist to his bosom, he rose again; while all the astonished multitude, now reviving from their terror, gazed only on the celestial apparition; and heard the reascending Seraph thus address the beneficent spirit now committed to his care: