The first story, that I ever heard, of Mather Byles, was related, at my father’s table, by the Rev. Dr. Belknap, in 1797, the year before he died. It was upon a Saturday; and Dr. John Clarke and some other gentlemen, among whom I well remember Major General Lincoln, ate their salt fish there, that day. I was a boy; and I remember their mirth, when, after Dr. Belknap had told the story, I said to our minister, Dr. Clarke, near whom I was eating my apple, that I wished he was half as funny a minister, as Dr. Byles.
Upon a Fast day, Dr. Byles had negotiated an exchange, with a country clergyman. Upon the appointed morning, each of them—for vehicles were not common then—proceeded, on horseback, to his respective place of appointment. Dr. Byles no sooner observed his brother clergyman approaching, at a distance, than he applied the whip; put his horse into a gallop; and, with his canonicals flying all abroad, passed his friend, at full run. “What is the matter?” he exclaimed, raising his hand in astonishment—“Why so fast, brother Byles?”—to which the Dr., without slackening his speed, replied, over his shoulder—“It is Fast day!”
This is, unquestionably, very funny—but it is surely undesirable, for a consecrated servant of the Lord, thus lavishly to sacrifice, upon the altars of Momus.
The distillery of Thomas Hill was at the corner of Essex and South Streets, not far from Dr. Belknap’s residence in Lincoln Street. Dr. Byles called on Mr. Hill, and inquired—“Do you still?”—“That is my business,” Mr. Hill replied.—“Then,” said Dr. Byles—“will you go with me, and still my wife?”
As he was once occupied, in nailing some list upon his doors, to exclude the cold, a parishioner said to him—“the wind bloweth wheresoever it listeth, Dr. Byles.”—“Yes sir,” replied the Dr. “and man listeth, wheresoever the wind bloweth.”
He was intimate with General Knox, who was a bookseller, before the war. When the American troops took possession of the town, after the evacuation, Knox, who had become quite corpulent, marched in, at the head of his artillery. As he passed on, Byles, who thought himself privileged, on old scores, exclaimed, loud enough to be heard—“I never saw an ox fatter in my life.” But Knox was not in the vein. He felt offended by this freedom, especially from Byles, who was then well known to be a tory; and replied, in uncourtly terms, that he was a “—— fool.”
In May, 1777, Dr. Byles was arrested, as a tory, and subsequently tried, convicted, and sentenced to confinement, on board a guard ship, and to be sent to England with his family, in forty days. This sentence was changed, by the board of war, to confinement in his own house. A guard was placed over him. After a time, the sentinel was removed—afterwards replaced—and again removed—when the Dr. exclaimed, that he had been guarded—regarded—and disregarded. He called his sentry his observ-a-tory.
Perceiving, one morning, that the sentinel, a simple fellow, was absent, and seeing Dr. Byles himself, pacing before his own door, with a musket on his shoulder, the neighbors stepped over, to inquire the cause—“You see,” said the Dr., “I begged the sentinel to let me go for some milk for my family, but he would not suffer me to stir. I reasoned the matter with him; and he has gone, himself, to get it for me, on condition that I keep guard in his absence.”
When he was very poor, and had no money to waste on follies, he caused the little room, in which he read and wrote, to be painted brown, that he might say to every visitor—“You see I am in a brown study.”
His family, having gone to rest, were roused one night, by the reiterated cry of thieves!—thieves! in the doctor’s loudest voice—the wife and daughters sprang instantly from their beds, and rushed into the room—there sat the Dr. alone, in his study chair—“Where, father?” cried the astonished family—“there!” he exclaimed, pointing to the candles.