With the vast domain of Virginia at this date, teeming with school-houses, attended by thousands of colored children, and instructed by white northern teachers, as well as those of their own race, the tuition of the Delany children forms a singular contrast. The famous New York Primer and Spelling Book was brought to them about that time by itinerant Yankee pedlers, trading in rags and old pewter, and giving in exchange for these new tin ware, school-books, and stationery. These pedlers always found it convenient and profitable, likewise, to leave their peculiar looking box wagon, to whisper into the ear of a black, “You’re as much right to learn to read as these whites;” and looking at their watches, had a “snigger of time left yet to stay a little and give a lesson or so.” These “didn’t charge, only gim me what ye mine to.” It was under such covert tuition, and with such instructors, in the humble home of Pati Delany, that the young Martin, together with his brothers and sisters, were taught to read and write. This stealthy manner of learning, while they were unconscious of the cause, had the tendency of making them more attentive and eager, perhaps, than otherwise, for their tuition was not of long duration before the elder boys were able to read intelligently, and instruct the younger children, we are told. And after a time almost improbable had elapsed, so well arranged were the plans for imparting instruction, that the authorities, who are always so vigilant in inspecting or prying into the movements of the free blacks, “that dangerous element” of the South, were so completely baffled, that not only the smaller children were reading and spelling, but the larger boys were actually writing “passes” for the slaves of their neighborhood. As their minds developed, all restraint was thrown aside, and the lessons given and recited heretofore in whispers, were now being recited to each other aloud. Leaving the little room in which they were accustomed to assemble, with throbbing hearts and eyes beaming with joyous anticipations to receive those early lessons, unconscious of the hair-suspended sword of southern _justice_ above their innocent heads, they dared to “_play school_,” like other children, under the shaded arbor of their mother’s garden. This soon attracted the attention of their neighbors. Surrounded as they were by whites, it was a hazardous and “overt act.” Major Delany describes the “situation” thus: “In the rear, adjoining, on the opposite street, was Downey’s; on the left, adjoining, Offit’s; on the right, immediately across the street from Hogan’s, was the Long O’nary, where Bun’s great school was kept, the largest school in the town except Heckman’s Seminary.” Thus the progress of Pati Delany’s children was soon made the gossip of the day, and attracted thither continually curious inquirers, eager to see and hear negro children spell and read.