In the summer of 1815, Mary left Hingham, and returned to her home in Pearl Street, Boston, where another change had just occurred in the death of her grandfather, James Lovell. This left her grandmother very lonely, and for the remaining two years of her life Mary devoted herself to her care, and ministered to her wants, with the same assiduity and affection that marked her devotion in her mother's sickness. Not that she was wholly confined to the sick-room, or the house. Mrs. Lovell's health varied, and allowed occasional visits to friends in and near Boston, for several weeks together. One of these visits took Mary as far as Northampton; and in a pleasant letter to her father she gives a full account of her journey thither, a very different matter then from what it now is. Going from the presence of sickness and sorrow into that beautiful region, her heart expanded with joy and gratitude,--gratitude to God, and to those generous friends whose guest she was, and whose hospitality she describes in a way that would leave no doubt to what family she refers, even if there were not a direct mention of one whom so many love to recall. "Mr. Lyman is, without exception, the most agreeable man I ever met with; and if I could only overcome feelings of restraint which his infinite superiority makes me have before him, I might be able to enjoy his conversation more. I may overcome it, but as yet I cannot, and therefore fear I appear stupid." This diffidence she never did wholly overcome, and we can conceive of its having been very great, at that age. Yet it seems never to have prevented her from going forward to the performance of any duty, or appearing with propriety and dignity in any position. She had a keen relish for all the beauties of nature, and no less for the refinements and pleasures of society. But her highest enjoyment, even at that age, was evidently sought and found in the company of the devout, and the joys of religion. Her father gently reproves her, in one of his letters, for indulging too much in "sombre" thoughts, and talking of "trials presenting themselves everywhere." But it is evident that it was to his own trials that she referred, and his depression may have extended sometimes, though very seldom, to her. He himself says of this state of feeling, "I was not without fear that I had imparted it to you, which would grieve me much."