May, 1890 . 
CONSTANCE C. W. NADEN. 
97 
CONSTANCE C. W. NADEN: 
A MEMOIR 
(Continued from page 83.) 
; PABT II. 
“ O life as futile, theu, as frail! 
O for thy voice to soothe and bless! 
What hope of answer or redress ? 
Behind the veil, behind the veil.” 
In Memoriam. 
After leaving Birmingham, on the death of her grand¬ 
mother, from whom she inherited a very handsome fortune, 
Miss Naden started, September 29th, 1887, with her 
friend, Mrs. Daniell, for an extended tour, proceeding across 
Germany and down the Danube, stopping at Vienna, and 
other interesting places, on the way to Constantinople, where 
a pause was made; then on to Broussa, Baalbec, Damascus, 
Palestine, and Cairo. After a trip up the Nile to Assouan, 
they returned to Cairo, and from thence proceeded to 
Bombay and Calcutta. The ladies were received with 
courtesy and hospitality both by Lord Dufferin (the Governor- 
General) and by Lord and Lady Keay. In a letter to a 
friend, she says:—“ We had a few introductions in Bombay, 
and I was decidedly amused to find myself plunged into * the 
best society,’ and meeting the Duchess of Connaught quite 
informally at a dinner party. She asked me about Mason 
College, and I had to explain to her the mode of conducting 
an impromptu debate. Then we were passed on to the 
Viceroy in Calcutta, and he liked my poems very much, and 
amused me by saying that he himself ‘ couldn’t write verse, 
but could do poetical prose very well.’” Professor Max Muller 
had kindly given them introductions to several of the native 
pundits, notably to Mr. Malabari, the great Indian reformer 
of Bombay, who explained his ideas on the necessary social 
reforms, especially regarding infant marriages, and the mar¬ 
riage of child-widows. These were alluded to in her subsequent 
address to the Sociological Section, and in the same paper 
she records with gratification the fact “ that Mr. Spencer’s 
works are known and appreciated among the more highly 
educated of the native gentlemen.” In another letter to a 
friend, she says:—“We went up to a stupid place, called 
Mount Aboo, for two days, and the Indian demon, fever, kept 
me a prisoner there for seven weeks.” Poor lady! it was 
the last long holiday she ever took, and, although it must 
have been eminently rich in experiences, reading between the 
lines, one sees the beginning of the end. The friends 
returned to London in June, 1888. 
