“Then every man who wishes to speak well should study elocution as an art. He should practise singing to give variety of tone to the voice. He should habitually see and study the best actors of his time, and so learn the ease and yet the moderation of gesture which helps so much even the best-constructed and most clearly delivered speech. If any one of these studies and exercises is neglected, the man who fails at the Bar must put some part of the blame upon himself.”
Sir Edward Clarke has fulfilled his own theories, even to witnessing the drama. He is a well-known first-nighter, and is often to be seen in the stalls of a theatre.
He sat in Parliament and listened to great speeches. He has himself built a church at Staines, wherein he has heard many sermons. And he has climbed to the very top of his profession.
It would be doing him an injustice to suggest that he places speech as the first and most essential quality in the lawyer’s training. The most brilliant speaker must have something to say. A capacity for logical and scientific reasoning and knowledge of the principles and rules of the law come before all.
“All success in every calling comes from hard work; there is no better secret,” he said decisively.
For years Sir Edward Clarke journeyed up to town from his charming home at Staines every morning, during the legal terms. His companion in the nine o’clock train was invariably the famous Orientalist and brilliant scholar, Dr. Ginsburg, who had made a home for himself and his unique collection of Bibles, and marvellous assortment of prints and etchings, at Virginia Water. Many and interesting were the conversations which these two celebrated men enjoyed during their little railway journey together. The one went off to the British Museum to work among the dead languages, and the completion of his life-work, the Massorah, and the other to the Law Courts, where, in wig and gown, he soon appeared from out his private room in the building, to the consolation of his own clients and the anxiety of his opponents.
Sir Edward Clarke declares the best speech he ever made in his life was addressed to one person—namely, the late Mr. Justice Kekewich. There was no jury, and the judge was alone on the bench. It was the case of Allcard and Skinner, a question of the plaintiff being allowed to recover from an Anglican sisterhood the money she gave while herself a member of it. Sir Edward managed to keep the money for the sisterhood, and Lord Russell of Killowen always declared it was his friend’s greatest stroke of oratory.
One of the events of the year at Leeds is the Lifeboat Celebration, when some thousands of pounds are collected. In these days when women are to the fore, the Committee decided to ask a woman to take the chair, and I was chosen for that position. They have the biggest of halls, which holds five thousand persons, with Members of Parliament, Lord Mayors, and other dignitaries on the platform.
The London editor of the Yorkshire Post came personally to ask me. I refused, funking the speech. Two days later, the Yorkshire Editor-in-chief arrived, flattered me to the skies, and begged me to go. But I persisted in excusing myself, and suggested his asking Sir Ernest Shackleton, promising that if they could not get him, I would do it.