ames Wilson begs to announce to the inhabitants of Barbie
and surrounding neighbourhood that he has taken these commodious
premises, No. 1 The Cross, which he intends to open shortly as a
Grocery, Ironmongery, and General Provision Store. J. W. is
apprised that such an Emporium has long been a felt want in the
locality. To meet this want is J. W.'s intention. He will try to do
so, not by making large profits on a small business, but by making
small profits on a large business. Indeed, owing to his long
acquaintance with the trade, Mr. Wilson will be able to supply all
commodities at a very little over cost price. For J. W. will use
those improved methods of business which have been confined
hitherto to the larger centres of population. At his Emporium you
will be able, as the saying goes, to buy everything from a needle
to an anchor. Moreover, to meet the convenience of his customers,
J. W. will deliver goods at your own doors, distributing them with
his own carts either in the town of Barbie or at any convenient
distance from the same. Being a native of the district, his
business hopes to secure a due share of your esteemed patronage.
Thanking you, in anticipation, for the favour of an early visit,

"Believe me, Ladies and Gentlemen,
"Yours faithfully,
"JAMES WILSON."

Such was the poster with which "Barbie and surrounding neighbourhood"
were besprinkled within a week of "J. W.'s" appearance on the scene. He
was known as "J. W." ever after. To be known by your initials is
sometimes a mark of affection, and sometimes a mark of disrespect. It
was not a mark of affection in the case of our "J. W." When Donald Scott
slapped him on the back and cried, "Hullo, J. W., how are the anchors
selling?" Barbie had found a cue which it was not slow to make use of.
Wilson even received letters addressed to "J. W., Anchor Merchant, No.
1 The Cross." Ours is a nippy locality.

But Wilson, cosy and cocky in his own good opinion, was impervious to
the chilly winds of scorn. His posters, in big blue letters, were on the
smiddy door and on the sides of every brig within a circuit of five
miles; they were pasted, in smaller letters, red on the gateposts of
every farm; and Robin Tam, the bellman, handed them about from door to
door. The folk could talk of nothing else.

"Dod!