Samuel Butler: a sketch | Page 3

night of the races in 1857.
Lady Margaret had been head of the river since 1854, Canon
M'Cormick was rowing 5, Philip Pennant Pearson (afterwards P.
Pennant) was 7, Canon Kynaston, of Durham (whose name formerly
was Snow), was stroke, and Butler was cox. When the cox let go of the
bung at starting, the rope caught in his rudder lines, and Lady Margaret
was nearly bumped by Second Trinity. They escaped, however, and
their pursuers were so much exhausted by their efforts to catch them
that they were themselves bumped by First Trinity at the next corner.
Butler wrote home about it:
11 March, 1857. Dear Mamma: My foreboding about steering was on
the last day nearly verified by an accident which was more deplorable
than culpable the effects of which would have been ruinous had not the
presence of mind of No. 7 in the boat rescued us from the very jaws of
defeat. The scene is one which never can fade from my remembrance
and will be connected always with the gentlemanly conduct of the crew
in neither using opprobrious language nor gesture towards your
unfortunate son but treating him with the most graceful forbearance; for
in most cases when an accident happens which in itself is but slight, but
is visited with serious consequences, most people get carried away with
the impression created by the last so as to entirely forget the accidental
nature of the cause and if we had been quite bumped I should have
been ruined, as it is I get praise for coolness and good steering as much
as and more than blame for my accident and the crew are so delighted
at having rowed a race such as never was seen before that they are
satisfied completely. All the spectators saw the race and were delighted;
another inch and I should never have held up my head again. One thing
is safe, it will never happen again.
The Eagle, "a magazine supported by members of St. John's College,"
issued its first number in the Lent term of 1858; it contains an article by
Butler "On English Composition and Other Matters," signed
"Cellarius":
Most readers will have anticipated me in admitting that a man should
be clear of his meaning before he endeavours to give it any kind of

utterance, and that, having made up his mind what to say, the less
thought he takes how to say it, more than briefly, pointedly and plainly,
the better.
From this it appears that, when only just over twenty-two, Butler had
already discovered and adopted those principles of writing from which
he never departed.
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." {1}
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. {2} 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