BY L. MARIA CHILD.

William Boen was born in 1735, one hundred and thirty years ago. He was the slave of a man who lived near Mount Holly, in New Jersey. His master and most of the neighbors belonged to the Society of Friends, commonly called Quakers. That Society made it a rule that none of their members should hold a slave, long before the people of any other sect were convinced that slavery was wrong. But at the time William Boen was born some of the Quakers did hold slaves, though many of their members were preaching against it.

They were a very friendly and conscientious people, and as William grew up among them he naturally imbibed many of their ideas. However, like most boys, he did not think very seriously about religion, until the importance of it was impressed upon his mind by the following circumstance. In the time of the old French war, when he was a mere lad, his master sent him into the woods to cut down trees. The Indians were fighting on the side of the French, and they often killed the Americans. Some of them came into the neighborhood of Mount Holly; and when he went home at night, after his day's work in the woods, he would often hear that Indians had been lurking about in the neighborhood, and that somebody had been shot by their sharp arrows. This made him very much afraid to work alone in the woods. He was always thinking that Indians might be hidden among the bushes; and if a bird flew off her nest it sounded to him like the whizzing of an arrow. It was very still in the forest, and it seemed very solemn to look up at the sky through the tall trees. William thought to himself, "What if the Indians should kill me before I have any time to think about it? Am I fit to die?" He thought he was not fit to die, and he longed earnestly to know what he ought to do to become fit to die. He had heard the Quakers talk about a light which God had placed in the soul, to show men what was wrong. And he said it went through his mind "like a flaming sword," that if he would be fit to die he must follow this inward light in every particular, even in the most trifling things. So he began to be very thoughtful about every action of his life; and if he felt uneasy about anything he was tempted to do, he said to himself, "This is the inward light, showing me that the thing is wrong. I will not do it." Pursuing this course, he became careful not to do anything which did not bring peace to his soul; and as the soul can never be peaceful when it disobeys God, he was continually travelling toward Zion while he strove to follow this inward light in his soul; and the more humbly he tried to follow it, the clearer the light became. He did not always keep in the straight path. Sometimes he did or said something wrong; then peace went away from his mind. But he confessed his sin before God, and prayed for strength not to do wrong any more. By humility and obedience he again found the path of peace. Religion comes in many different ways to human souls. This was the way it came to William Boen.

All who knew him saw that his religious feeling was deep and sincere, for it brought forth fruit in his daily life. He never made others unhappy by indulging freaks of temper. He was extremely temperate, scrupulously honest, and very careful never to say anything but the exact truth. His character was so excellent that all the neighbors respected and trusted him. Many said it was a shame to keep him in slavery, and his master became uneasy about it. People said to him, from time to time, "William, thy master talks of letting thee be free." He heard it so often, that it became an old story, and he thought nothing would ever come of it. But one day his master was walking with him as he went to his work in the fields, and suddenly he inquired whether he would like to be free. William was silent for a while, and then began to talk about the work he was to do. But the question dwelt on his mind and excited his hopes. He told one of his friends about it, and when he was asked, "What didst thou say, William?" he replied, "I did not say anything; for I thought he might know I would like to be free."

When he was nearly twenty-eight years old his master offered to make a contract with him by which he could obtain his freedom. He was soon after married to a worthy young woman, and by industry and strict economy they were able in a few years to buy a few acres of land, and build a comfortable house. He led a peaceful and diligent life, doing good to others whenever he could, and harming no one. His conscience was extremely tender. He would never eat anything made of sugar manufactured by slaves, and he never would wear any garments made of cotton raised by slave labor. He thought Slavery was so wrong, that he did not feel easy to connect himself with it, even in the remotest degree.

He was equally scrupulous about telling the truth. One of his neighbors, a rich white man, was very much in the habit of borrowing his tools. One day, when he had been using his grindstone, he thanked him for it, and William answered, in the customary way, "Thou art welcome." But soon he began to ask himself, "Was that the exact truth?" His mind was troubled by doubts about it, and finally he went to his neighbor, and said, "When I told thee thou wert welcome, I spoke mere complimentary words, according to custom; for the truth is, I do honestly think thou art better able to have a grindstone of thy own, than I am."

He had also a very nice sense of justice with regard to the rights of property. Nothing would induce him to use what belonged to another person without first obtaining leave. One day, when he was mowing in the meadows, he accidentally killed a fat partridge with his scythe. The other workmen advised him to take it home for his wife to roast. But he replied, "Nay, the partridge does not belong to me, it belongs to the owner of the meadow." Accordingly he carried it to his employer. Another time, when he was working with others in the woods, they found an empty cabin, wherein they stowed their provisions, and lodged for a fortnight, till they had finished cutting the timber. After William returned home he took an early opportunity to tell the owner of the cabin what he had done, and to offer payment for the accommodation.

He constantly attended Quaker meetings, and followed their peculiar customs in dress and language; but he was not admitted into full membership with that religious society till he was nearly eighty years old, though he had made application to join it thirty years before.

He was scrupulously neat in his person. His linen was always very white, and his light drab-colored clothes showed no speck of dirt. He wore his beard long, and as he grew old it became very white; his curly hair also was white as snow. His dark face was very conspicuous in the midst of all this whiteness, and gave him an odd appearance. But he had such a friendly, pleasant expression of countenance, and there was so much modest dignity in his manners, that he inspired respect. A stranger once said to one of his wealthy neighbors, "I wonder that boys and giddy young folks don't ridicule that old black man, his dress and appearance are so very peculiar." The neighbor replied, "William Boen is a religious man, and everybody respects him. The light-minded are so much impressed by his well-known character, that they are restrained from making fun of his singular appearance."

He died in his ninetieth year; not from any disease, but the mere weakness of old age. His faculties were clear, and his mind serene and cheerful to the last. He spoke of his approaching death with the greatest composure; saying that he had no wish about the manner of his exit from this life, that he was resigned to the Divine will in all things.

One of the last things he said was, "I am glad to see that the feeling against slavery is growing among the Society of Friends. Once I felt as if I was alone in my testimony against that wicked system."

After his death, the Society of Friends at Mount Holly wrote a Memorial concerning his character, which was read in their Yearly Meeting. It concluded thus: "In early life, he was concerned 'to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with his God.' By close attention to the light of Christ within, he was enabled, not only to bear many precious testimonies faithfully to the end of his days, but also to bring forth those fruits of the spirit which redound to the glory of God and the salvation of the soul. As he lived, so he died,—a rare pattern of a self-denying follower of Christ. 'Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright; for the end of that man is peace.'"