Somehow, too, I got the impression that my heart was all broken to pieces; and this fact satisfactorily settled, I began to take a melancholy pleasure in brooding over my _early death_, and thinking how Dr. Clayton would feel, when he heard the sad news! Almost every week I was _weighed_, feeling each time a good deal chagrined to find that I was not losing flesh as fast as a person in a decline would naturally do. In this state of affairs, I one day came across a little sketch of Hannah More, in which her early disappointment was described, and forthwith I likened myself to _her_, and taking courage from her example, I finally concluded that if I could not have the doctor I could at least write for the newspapers, and some day I might perhaps be able to make a _book_. This, I thought, would amply atone for my loss—an opinion which I hold still, for if ever I do see myself in a book, and the _reviews_ let me alone, which, in consideration of all I have suffered, I am sure they will do, I shall consider it a most fortunate circumstance that Dell’s $10,000, in prospect, proved a stronger temptation than my father’s $5,000 divided by thirteen! CHAPTER XI. BOSTON. The bridal party had returned from the Falls, and after spending a week or more at Capt. Thompson’s the doctor took down his sign, boxed up his books, pills, powders, and _skeleton_, which some called his _’natomy_, while Dell packed up her six morning gowns with hosts of other finery, and then one day in August they started for Boston; where the doctor hoped for a wider field of labor, fully expecting to be aided by the powerful influence of Mr. Marshall, his wife’s uncle, whose high station in the city he never once doubted. For this opinion he had, as the world goes, some well founded reasons; for not only did Dell often quote “my Aunt Marshall of Boston,” but the lady herself also managed to impress the people of Pine District with her superiority over them, and her great importance at home. Notwithstanding that she frequently spent several weeks at Capt. Thompson’s, she still could not endure the country—“the people were so vulgar—’twas so dull there, and no concerts, no operas, no theatres, no star actors, no parties, and more than all, no dear, delightful old Common, with its shaded walks and velvet grass.”