The pretended author of the letter was a certain Henry Goring, a gentleman known to be in attendance upon the last of the Stuarts.  The preface gives a commonplace explanation of how the letter fell into the hands of the editor through a similarity of names.  Apparently the pamphlet was thought seditious because it eulogized the Young Chevalier, hinting how advantageous it would be to have him on the throne.  As the secret journey progresses, the Prince has a chance to expose his admirable political tenets in conversation with a nobleman of exalted rank; in rescuing a young woman from a fire, caring for her in distress, and refusing to take advantage of her passion for him, he gives evidence of a morality not accorded him by history and proves “how fit he is to govern others, who knows so well how to govern himself”; and when assaulted by hired assassins, he manifests courage and coolness, killing one of the bravos with his own hand.  It is unnecessary to review the various stages in the Pretender’s travels, which are related with a great air of mystery, but amount to nothing.  The upshot is that the Prince has not renounced all thoughts of filling the throne of his ancestors, but has ends in view which the world knows nothing of and which will surprise them all some day.  Had the Prince shown himself more susceptible to the charms of the merchants’ daughters who fell in his way, this bit of romancing might claim the doubtful distinction of being Mrs. Haywood’s only original secret history, but as it stands, no part of the story has the necessary motivation by passion.  The intrigue is entirely political.

There would seem to be little dangerous stuff in this performance even five years after the insurrection of 1745, but if as the “Monthly Review” ill-naturedly hints, Eliza Haywood really suffered for her supposed connection with it, the lesson was at any rate effectual, for the small references to the P——­ occasionally noticeable in her previous works suddenly ceased, and thereafter the novelist scrupulously refrained from mingling fiction and politics.  Previously, however, she had at least once attempted to write a political satire elaborately disguised as a romance.  In July, 1736, according to the list of books in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” numerous duodecimo volumes emanated from the shop of S. Baker and were sold under the title of “Adventures of Eovaai, Princess of Ijaveo.  A Pre-Adamitical History.  Interspersed with a great Number of remarkable Occurrences, which happened, and may again happen, to several Empires, Kingdoms, Republicks, and particular Great Men ...  Written originally in the Language of Nature, (of later Years but little understood.) First translated into Chinese ... and now retranslated into English, by the Son of a Mandarin, residing in London."[5]

After the introduction has given a fantastic account of the Pre-Adamitical world, and explained with elaborate unconvincingness how the manuscript of the book came into existence, the tale commences like a moral allegory, but soon lapses into mere extravagant adventure.  Capable at all times of using a deus ex machina as the readiest way of solving a situation, Mrs. Haywood here makes immoderate use of magic elements.