MISS SARAH JACK, OF SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA

by Anthony Trollope




There is nothing so melancholy as a country in its decadence, unless
it be a people in their decadence. I am not aware that the latter
misfortune can be attributed to the Anglo-Saxon race in any part of
the world; but there is reason to fear that it has fallen on an
English colony in the island of Jamaica.

Jamaica was one of those spots on which fortune shone with the full
warmth of all her noonday splendour. That sun has set;--whether for
ever or no none but a prophet can tell; but as far as a plain man may
see, there are at present but few signs of a coming morrow, or of
another summer.

It is not just or proper that one should grieve over the misfortunes
of Jamaica with a stronger grief because her savannahs are so lovely,
her forests so rich, her mountains so green, and he rivers so rapid;
but it is so. It is piteous that a land so beautiful should be one
which fate has marked for misfortune. Had Guiana, with its flat,
level, unlovely soil, become poverty-stricken, one would hardly
sorrow over it as one does sorrow for Jamaica.

As regards scenery she is the gem of the western tropics. It is
impossible to conceive spots on the earth's surface more gracious to
the eye than those steep green valleys which stretch down to the