Health to the sick, and solace to the swain.
Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose?
Who taught the heaven-directed spire to rise?
‘The Man of Ross,’ each lisping babe replies.”
So says Pope in his “Moral Essays,” and, in saying this and much more about the good man, scattered the fame of John Kyrle far and wide. It is pleasant to know that a man who showed himself so solicitous that others should taste of enjoyment was able himself to take great delight in simple things. “He dearly loved a goose,” says Leitch Ritchie, “and was vain of his dexterity in carving it. During the operation, which he invariably took upon himself, he always repeated one of those old sayings and standing witticisms that seem to attach themselves with peculiar preference to the cooked goose. He never had roast beef on his table save and except on Christmas day, and malt liquors and good Hereford cyder were the only beverages ever introduced.”
The good man’s bones rest in Ross Church, the spire of which he had repaired; and to this day are shown the trees that have forced a way through chinks in the wall and floor of the building, so that their branches and leaves might droop as though in the attitude of mourning over his grave. From the churchyard there is to be had a magnificent view of the Wye sweeping in a great curve far below, the waters hastening on to lose themselves in the Severn. From Ross to the mouth of the Wye, those who can afford the time should make the journey by boat. It will be well to discard the use of adjectives and exclamations in taking this trip, for the most gifted in the use of these parts of speech will speedily find themselves at their wits’ end for words to express their admiration of the scenery.
