Nobody gives us any fun. The Opposition are bitter and
the Ministerialists are argumentative, and the speeches of the Recess are as heavy as lead. Mr. Stanhope tried to be an ex- ception at Huddersfield on Tuesday, but he only made the gloom deeper. He actually declared that the British Admiral, Admiral Seymour, "was about to have the distinguished title of Count Fiasco conferred upon him by the nations of Europe, for what he had done." A tenth-rate clown, or a writer of bur- lesques, or an irritated cabman, would be ashamed of himself if he could not do better than that. Mr. Stanhope's own epigram, that "Mr. Gladstone's Government are supporting anarchy for the sake of preserving their party," is better. One can smile at the cool audacity of a statement like that, but it is impos- sible for anybody to chuckle over "Count Fiasco." The de- crease of humour in politics is a marked sign of a time in wirieh it is possible for Mr. Parnell to lead Irishmen, in which the whole Irish Representation has not one jester, and in which the only Member of Parliament who can raise a laugh at will is a sworn teetotaller. We suppose laughter will come back again some time, but for the present, we doubt if a Tory would know a joke if he heard one, while we are quite sure that if Mr. Stan- hope is the typical Tory, he cannot make one. Nobody on that side can, unless it be Major-General Fielden, and he does it unconsciously.
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