In the fifth number of the Eagle is an article, “Our Tour,” also signed “Cellarius”; it is an account of a tour made in June, 1857, with a friend whose name he Italianized into Giuseppe Verdi, through France into North Italy, and was written, so he says, to show how they got so much into three weeks and spent only 25 pounds; they did not, however, spend quite so much, for the article goes on, after bringing them back to England, “Next day came safely home to dear old St. John’s, cash in hand 7d.” {19}

Butler worked hard with Shilleto, an old pupil of his grandfather, and was bracketed 12th in the Classical Tripos of 1858.  Canon M’Cormick told me that he would no doubt have been higher but for the fact that he at first intended to go out in mathematics; it was only during the last year of his time that he returned to the classics, and his being so high as he was spoke well for the classical education of Shrewsbury.

It had always been an understood thing that he was to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather and become a clergyman; accordingly, after taking his degree, he went to London and began to prepare for ordination, living and working among the poor as lay assistant under the Rev. Philip Perring, Curate of St. James’s, Piccadilly, an old pupil of Dr. Butler at Shrewsbury. {20} Placed among such surroundings, he felt bound to think out for himself many theological questions which at this time were first presented to him, and, the conclusion being forced upon him that he could not believe in the efficacy of infant baptism, he declined to be ordained.

It was now his desire to become an artist; this, however, did not meet with the approval of his family, and he returned to Cambridge to try for pupils and, if possible, to get a fellowship.  He liked being at Cambridge, but there were few pupils and, as there seemed to be little chance of a fellowship, his father wished him to come down and adopt some profession.  A long correspondence took place in the course of which many alternatives were considered.  There are letters about his becoming a farmer in England, a tutor, a homoeopathic doctor, an artist, or a publisher, and the possibilities of the army, the bar, and diplomacy.  Finally it was decided that he should emigrate to New Zealand.  His passage was paid, and he was to sail in the Burmah, but a cousin of his received information about this vessel which caused him, much against his will, to get back his passage money and take a berth in the Roman Emperor, which sailed from Gravesend on one of the last days of September, 1859.  On that night, for the first time in his life, he did not say his prayers.  “I suppose the sense of change was so great that it shook them quietly off.  I was not then a sceptic; I had got as far as disbelief in infant baptism, but no further.  I felt no compunction of conscience, however, about leaving off my morning and evening prayers—­simply I could no longer say them.”