ends the pair. While the two are confined in
separate convents awaiting trial, Clementina's maid, Ismenia (who has
already related her little history), becomes their go-between and serves
her mistress the same trick that Clementina had already played upon her
friend Miramene. Ismenia and the faithless Baron decamp to parts
unknown, while Clementina's father starts back to Rome with his recreant
daughter. In man's clothes she escapes from her parent to seek revenge
upon her lover. At an inn she hears a woman in the next room complaining
of her gallant's desertion, and going in to console her, hears the
moving story of Signiora Vicino and Monsieur Beaumont, told as a warning
to the credulous and unwary sex. The injured fair enters a convent.

Still in pursuit of her lover, Clementina on Montelupe meets the funeral
of a young woman who had been torn to pieces by wolves. The chief
mourner proves to be Glencairn. She is hindered in an attempt to stab
him and thrown into prison, where he visits her and disarms her
resentment by offering to marry her. After the ceremony they proceed to
Paris where each plunges into dissipation. Finally they separate,
Clementina dies of a fever, and the Baron is left free to pursue his
inclinations through a possible third part, which, however, was never
written.

After a slumber of forty years "The Agreeable Caledonian" was reprinted,
as the "Monthly Review" informs us, from a copy corrected by Mrs.
Haywood not long before her death.[16] The review continues, "It is like
the rest of Mrs. Haywood's novels, written in a tawdry style, now
utterly exploded; the romances of these days being reduced much nearer
the standard of nature, and to the manners of the living world." Realism
is, indeed, far to seek in the brief but intricate tissue of incidents
that made the novel of 1728. To a taste accustomed to "Sir Charles
Grandison," and "Peregrine Pickle," and "The Sentimental Journey" the
rehash of Eliza Haywood's novel must have seemed very far even from the
manners of the world of fiction. The judgment of the "Critical Review"
was still more savage in its accuracy.[17] "This is a republication of a
dull, profligate Haywoodian production, in which all the males are
rogues, and all the females whores, without a glimpse of plot, fable, or
sentiment." In its uncompromising literalness the critic's verdict ranks
with the learned Ascham's opinion of the "Morte D'Arthur,"--except that
it has not been supe