Mr. Plant’s first day at school is another tender memory connected with his mother. She had dressed him up in new clothes and talked to him about going to school and learning to read, and becoming a good scholar, and doubtless much more that her kindly mother-heart would suggest to awaken interest and stimulate ambition in the boy. Then she took him outside the gate, pointed out the schoolhouse, kissed him, and told him to go thither and give his name to the teacher as a scholar. His mother intuitively knew her child’s sensitive disposition, and had her misgivings about his being able to carry out her instructions; so she concealed herself and watched him till he reached the school door. Here poor little Henry’s courage failed him, and he came running back to his mother, not to be scolded, but to be encouraged and helped over his childish timidity. His mother this time went with him to the schoolhouse, took him in, and made him acquainted with the lady teacher. Thus began, more than seventy years ago, the first lesson of this most successful man. The scene is as vivid in his mind to-day as it was on the day when it was enacted. How little that teacher knew of the man that was enfolded in this timid child, and of the great privilege, as well as great responsibility, that was hers, thus early preparing him, in part, for his great career. Henry was a very diffident child, nor did his diffidence quite cease with childhood, for even in manhood at public dinners when he suspected that he might be called on for a speech, it took away his appetite if not the enjoyment of the otherwise pleasant occasion. This will surprise many of Mr. Plant’s friends who have listened to him with pleasure and profit on many occasions. He rarely prepared his speeches, but drew his ideas from that knowledge and experience which he possessed on so many different subjects, and always spoke intelligently in plain, clear, well-chosen words, without any attempt at oratorical display. Of this we shall speak in another place. “Some time after my father’s death, perhaps three or four years,” says Mr. Plant, “my mother married again, a man by the name of Philemon Hoadley. He was a very religious man, and was exceedingly kind to me; he said I was the best boy he had ever seen. He lived in New York State, and mother left Branford and we moved to his home at Martensburg, New York. I lived part of the time with her there and part of the time with my grandmother Plant at Branford. She always attended church on the Sabbath, and took me with her, never failing to carry a good luncheon, which we ate in the church house at the close of the morning service.” An incident of Mr. Plant’s boyhood was sent to the writer by one who has known him long, and esteems the President of the Southern Express Company, (of which he has been a faithful and efficient agent in North Carolina for many years) very highly, and loves him with a genuine, manly affection. He writes thus: