To Henry Jackson.
Tafira,
Las Palmas.
14 February, 1903.
We have been having bad news of sorts from home and this has spoilt what would otherwise have been a pleasant time, for though we have had heavy rain—even snow on the hill tops—we keep a really working sun that is up to a sun's business and converts the most appalling mud into dust in the space of a few hours. Until just lately I have been wondrous well. My amusement I have taken in the shape of lessons in Spanish from the hostess of the village inn. She prides herself on not talking like the other folk of Tafira—but asked me whether Perez Galdos wrote Gil Blas. P. G. is by birth a Canario and mighty proud they are of him here. Every little town has a street named after him. To my mind he is a most unequal storyteller—sometimes very good, at others dull.
To Frederick Pollock.
Tafira.
14 March, 1903.
... Did I tell you that a while ago I was informed that I had been elected a bencher of Lincoln's Inn (with the "usual fees" forgiven). The news made my hair stand on end—one of the vacant bishoprics would have been less of a surprise.
To A. W. Verrall.
Quiney's Hotel,
Las Palmas.
14 Feb. 1903.
Until just this week I have been doing wonderfully well. Now the messenger of Satan has returned to buffet me and abate my pride. So the cycle has to rest; but I am hopeful that the visitation may be short—it ought to be if the climate has anything to do with the matter, for after some rainy weeks we are on the sun again. El Señor Cura "clapped in the prayer for rain" so very effectually that he had to protest before all saints that he had not meant quite so much as all that. Rainmaking is still one of the chief duties of the priesthood in such a country as this.