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This man was the celebrated Ambrose Spinola, who died a few

months after, and during this very war which he had so much at

heart,-not in the field, but in his bed, and through grief and

vexation at the treatment he experienced from those whose

interests he had served. History has loudly extolled his merits;

she has been silent upon his base inhumanity in risking the

dissemination of that worst of mortal calamities, plague, over a

country committed to his trust.