" If a stranger had at this time 1782, gone into the province of Oudc, ignorant of what had happened since the death of Sujah Dowla, that man who with a savage heart, and all his ferocity in war, had still, with a cultivating hand, preserved to his country the riches which it derived from henignant skies, and a prolific soil.—If this stranger, ignorant of what had happened in the short interval, and observing all the horrors of the scene—plains unclothed and brown—vegetation burnt up and extinguished—villages depopulated and in ruins—temples unroofed and perishing—reservoirs broken down and dry — he would naturally inquire, what war had thus laid waste the fields of this once beautiful country ? what civil dissensions had thus torn asunder the happy societies that once possessed these villages ? what disputed succession ? what religious rage has with unholy violence demolished those temples, and disturbed fervent but unobtruding piety in the exercise of its duties ? what merciless enemy has thus spread the horrors of fire and sword ? what severe visitation of providence has thus dried up the fountains, and taken from the face of the earth every vestige of green ? or rather, what monsters have poisoned with pestiferous breath, what their voracious appetite could not devour ? To such questions, what must be the answer ? No wars have ravaged these lands—no civil dissensions have been felt—no disputed succession—no religious rage —no merciless enemy—no afflictions of providence which, while it scourged for the moment, cut off the sources of resuscitation—:no voracious and poisoning monster—no— all this has been accomplished by the friendship, generosity
and kindness of the English
