One writes with melancholy of Clifford Sharp, for his •
death at 51 sets the seal on a life that failed to sustain its early promise. As the first and only editor of the New Statesman—his resignation synchronized with its expansion into the New Statesman and Nation—he arrested the attention of the thoughtful. public from the first by the vigour and clarity of his writing (coupled with a certain recklessness which on one occasion brought him into disastrous collision with a High Court Judge) and his discriminating selection of contributors. He was a constant visitor at Mr. Asquith7s Berkshire home The Wharf, and readers of Letters from H. H. A. will know in what respect the Liberal leader held him. He was sounded regarding the editorship of The Daily News and, I believe, actually offered it, after Mr. A. G. Gardiner's resignation in 1919.. But in later years he let his powers run away into sand, and nothing, I think, but a few odd reviews have appeared from his pen since he left The New Statesman in 1931.
Previous page
