On the eighteenth of August I married Catherine Boucher at the church of St. Mary, Battersea. She is the daughter of a market-gardener. When I first told her of my love, she pitied me — and I knew then that she was the woman for me, for Pity divides the soul.

She signed the register with a mark, for she could not write her name.

I have taught her to read, to write, to draw, and to print. She is now my partner in all things. Without her I could not make my books.