It was the latter part of August 1891. A friend and I had come down from Ramsgate to Minster, to see the venerable church there, which is a thousand years old, 1 entered the charebyard and seated myself upon a name-leas grave while he went in search of somebody to unlock the doors of the edifice and show its wonders. In a few minutes he returned in company with an odorly lady, to whom he introduced me, saying she was the custodian and guide of the place. I gazed at her face for some moments without sword. Ifmy own mother, dead and gone 15 years, bad come bulk ta speak to her only
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.