John Bolton Rogerson and R. W. Procter have each borne affectionate testimony to the moral worth and literary promise of William Rowlinson. Soon after his death there appeared in the _Falcon_ some stanzas which declared, “The great in soul from his earthly home, In his youthful pride hath gone, Where the bards of old will proudly greet The Muses’ honoured son. Oh, there is joy in the blessed thought Thou art shrin’d on fame’s bright ray, Though the stranger’s step is on thy grave And thy friends be far away.” We need not cherish illusions. The stranger’s step is on Rowlinson’s grave, but he is not “shrined on fame’s bright ray,” whatever and wherever that may be. No stone marks his grave, his very resting-place is unknown; we cannot even brush aside the grass from the forgotten and moss-grown tomb of William Rowlinson, one who perished in his early prime; whose music, faint, yet melodious, passed into silence before it could be shaped into a song the world would care to hear or to remember. Footnote 9: I have to thank the Vicar (Rev. T. E. Powell) for searching the registers. There is no gravestone. Literary Taste of the Eighteenth Century. The literary tastes of our great-grandfathers may be supposed to be mirrored in a catalogue of the circulating library established in the middle of the last century at Manchester. The list of the subscribers includes the names of Mr. Edward Byrom, the Rev. Mr. Ethelston, Joseph Harrop, Titus Hibbert, Thomas Henry, Dr. Peploe, Richard Townley, and Dr. C. White. The late president of the Chetham Society had a book-loving predecessor, for the name of Mr. James Crossley is also in the list. The books are of a highly respectable character, and impress one with a favourable opinion of the pertinacity of those who could pursue knowledge tinctured with so slight a flavour of entertainment. Out of 452 books there are but twenty-two professing to be novels, and amongst these are “Don Quixote,” “Gil Blas,” “Devil upon Two Sticks,” “Sir Charles Grandison,” “Tristram Shandy,” and Sir Thomas More’s “Utopia.” The library had faith in “Fingal, an Ancient Epic Poem,” and patronised “Poet Ogden,” who wrote “The British Lion Roused.” Byrom, Deacon, and Callcott were also amongst their local authors. The readers who were tired of Mill’s “Husbandry” and of the “Principles of the Quakers Truly Represented,” might turn to Voltaire’s “Letters Concerning the English Nation,” or amuse themselves with Glanvill’s examination of “The Opinion of Eastern Sages Concerning the Pre-existence of Souls;” and if the daughter of the house obtained by chance the heterodox treatise which declares “Christianity as Old as the Creation,” she might have it changed for the “Young Misses’ Magazine,” or, still better, the “Matrimonial Preceptor.” Another fine