‘I perceive now,’ Sir Edward broke in, ‘the tendency of all this discourse. On my conscience, he has contrived the whole scheme to no other end than to set his own country on an equal foot with England and the rest of the world.’
Fletcher’s answer was that Scotland, if separated from England, must be involved in constant war; but that if united to England, and at the same time left in possession of the power of self-government, she would be prosperous. ‘This,’ he exclaimed, ‘is the only just and rational kind of Union. All other coalitions are but the unjust subjection of one people to another.’
At this point the conversation ended. ‘I was going on,’ he concludes, ‘to open many things concerning those leagued Governments, when a servant came to acquaint us that dinner was set on the table. We were nobly entertained, and after dinner I took leave of the company, and returned to my lodgings, having promised to meet them again at another time to discourse further on the same subject.’
This imaginary dialogue is perhaps the best known of Fletcher’s writings. The style almost approaches that of the Tatlers and Spectators, and it contains the well-known saying about ballads. Sir Christopher alludes to the infamous ballads which were sung in the streets of London, and their bad influence on the morals of the people. ‘One would think,’ says Cromartie, ‘this last were of no great consequence.’
‘I knew,’ remarks Fletcher, ‘a very wise man so much of Sir Christopher’s sentiment that he believed if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation.’
The ‘very wise man’ is, of course, Fletcher’s ironical description of himself; and the epigram may be taken as an instance of the kind of humour which flashes out, every now and then, in his treatment of the grave topics on which he most delights to dwell. Lord Buchan has preserved another instance of Fletcher’s irony. ‘Fletcher,’ he says, ‘used to say with Cromwell and Milton that the trappings of a monarchy and a great aristocracy would patch up a very clever little commonwealth.’ Being in company with the witty Dr. Pitcairn, the conversation turned on a person of learning whose history was not distinctly known. ‘I knew the man well,’ said Fletcher; ‘he was hereditary Professor of Divinity at Hamburgh.’ ‘Hereditary Professor!’ said Pitcairn, with a laugh of astonishment and derision. ‘Yes, Doctor,’ replied Fletcher, ‘hereditary Professor of Divinity. What think you of an hereditary King?’
CHAPTER VII
A New Ministry in Scotland—Scenes in the Parliament House—The Act of Security becomes Law—England retaliates by passing the Alien Act.