One bitter December night, he called his daughters from their bed, simply to inquire if they lay warm.
He had a small collection of curiosities. Some visitors called, one morning; and Mrs. Byles, unwilling to be found at her ironing board, and desiring to hide herself, as she would not be so caught, by these ladies, for the world, the doctor put her in a closet, and buttoned her in. After a few remarks, the ladies expressed a wish to see the Dr’s curiosities, which he proceeded to exhibit; and, after entertaining them very agreeably, for several hours, he told them he had kept the greatest curiosity to the last; and, proceeding to the closet, unbuttoned the door, and exhibited Mrs. Byles.
He had complained, long, often, and fruitlessly, to the selectmen, of a quagmire, in front of his dwelling. One morning, two of the fathers of the town, after a violent rain, passing with their chaise, became stuck in this bog. As they were striving to extricate themselves, and pulling to the right and to the left, the doctor came forth, and bowing, with great politeness, exclaimed—“I am delighted, gentlemen, to see you stirring in this matter, at last.”
A candidate for fame proposed to fly, from the North Church steeple, and had already mounted, and was clapping his wings, to the great delight of the mob. Dr. Byles, mingling with the crowd, inquired what was the object of the gathering—“We have come, sir,” said some one, “to see a man fly.”—“Poh, poh,” replied the doctor, “I have seen a horse-fly.”
A gentleman sent Dr. Byles a barrel of very fine oysters. Meeting the gentleman’s wife, an hour or two after, in the street, the doctor assumed an air of great severity, and told her, that he had, that morning, been treated, by her husband, in a most Billingsgate manner, and then abruptly left her. The lady, who was of a nervous temperament, went home in tears, and was quite miserable, till her husband returned, at noon, and explained the occurrence; but was so much offended with the doctor’s folly, that he cut his acquaintance.
A poor fellow, in agony with the toothache, meeting the doctor, asked him where he should go, to have it drawn. The doctor gave him a direction to a particular street and number. The man went, as directed; and, when the occupant came to the door, told him that Dr. Byles had sent him there, to have his tooth drawn. “This is a poor joke, for Dr. Byles,” said the gentleman; “I am not a dentist, but a portrait painter—it will give you little comfort, my friend, to have me draw your tooth.” Dr. Byles had sent the poor fellow to Copley.
Upon the 19th of May, 1780, the memorable dark day, a lady wrote to the doctor as follows—“Dear doctor, how do you account for this darkness?” and received his immediate reply—“Dear Madam, I am as much in the dark, as you are.” This, for sententious brevity, has never been surpassed, unless by the correspondence, between the comedian, Sam Foote, and his mother—“Dear Sam, I’m in jail”—“Dear Mother, So am I.”
He had, at one time, a remarkably stupid, and literal, Irish girl, as a domestic. With a look and voice of terror, he said to her, in haste—“Go and say to your mistress, Dr. Byles has put an end to himself.” The girl flew up stairs, and, with a face of horror, exclaimed, at the top of her lungs—“Dr. Byles has put an end to himself!” The astonished wife and daughters rushed into the parlor—and there was the doctor, calmly walking about, with a part of a cow’s tail, that he had picked up, in the street, tied to his coat, or cassock, behind.
From the time of the stamp act, in 1765, to the period of the revolution, the cry had been repeated, in every form of phraseology, that our grievances should be redressed. One fine morning, when the multitude had gathered on the Common, to see a regiment of red coats, paraded there, who had recently arrived—“Well,” said the doctor, gazing at the spectacle, “I think we can no longer complain, that our grievances are not red dressed.” “True,” said one of the laughers, who were standing near, “but you have two ds, Dr. Byles.” “To be sure, sir, I have,” the doctor instantly replied, “I had them from Aberdeen, in 1765.”
These pleasantries will, probably, survive “The Conflagration.” Had not this eccentric man possessed some very excellent and amiable qualities, he could not have maintained his clerical relation to the Hollis-Street Church and Society, for three and forty years, from 1733 to 1776; and have separated from them, at last, for political considerations alone.