It is thus that a good, genuine book goes on bearing fruit. It is thus a good example tells in all strata of society. It is thus the life of one man is a blessing in all after time. William Chambers all the while pursued with more or less diligence his studies. He always rose at five in the morning to have a spell at reading. In the same way he made some progress in French, with the pronunciation of which he was already familiar, from the speech of the French prisoners of war in Peebles. He likewise dipped into several books of solid worth, such as Smith’s “Wealth of Nations,” Locke’s “Human Understanding,” Paley’s “Moral Philosophy,” and Blair’s “Belles Lettres.” His brother Robert, who had come to live with him, seems also to have done the same. In 1816, the latter became self-supporting; he had up to that time continued his studies in the hope of becoming a clerk or teacher. All hope in that direction, fortunately for himself and his country, was abandoned, and with a few old books, the remnant of the family library, he started in the world as a second-hand bookseller in Leith Walk. It was in 1819 that William did the same—having left his employers—with five shillings in his pocket, to which sum his weekly wages had latterly been considerately advanced. Unfortunately, Robert had cleared out the family stores, and there was no stock-in-trade with which William could furnish his scanty shelves. He was so fortunate, however, as to get a limited amount of credit from a London publisher of cheap standard literature, and thus he began a career of which he or any one else might well be proud. Bookselling by itself, however, was not sufficient; he tried caligraphy; he taught himself bookbinding; he mastered the art of printing; he became a publisher. His first book, of course, was a cheap edition of Burns’ Songs. Such is an outline of the career of the brothers. Then comes the old story of success, of literary and business renown, of happy domestic life, and of the end of all. Both brothers were indefatigable writers. “Altogether,” writes William, “as nearly as can be reckoned, my brother produced upwards of seventy volumes, exclusively of detached papers, which it would be impossible to enumerate.” His whole writings had for their aim the good of society, the advancement, in some shape or other, of the true and the beautiful. “It will hardly be thought,” he modestly and affectionately adds, “that I exceed the proper bounds of panegyric in stating that, in the long list of literary compositions of Robert Chambers, we see the zealous and successful student, the sagacious and benevolent citizen, and the devoted lover of his country.” A similar eulogium may be pronounced on William himself. Robert Chambers, the younger brother, thus makes us acquainted with his evening studies while a lad at his native town of Peebles:—