86 ALONG THE HILLSBOROUGH. 
behind them! They came to the coast on 
purpose, we may suppose. Well, the red- 
men are gone, but the oyster-beds remain ; 
and if winter refugees continue to pour in 
this direction, as doubtless they will, they 
too will eat a “ heap ” of oysters (it is easy 
to see how the vulgar Southern use of that 
word may have originated), and in the 
course of time, probably, the shores of the 
Halifax and the Hillsborough will be a fine 
mountainous country! And then, if this 
ancient, nineteenth-century prediction is re- 
membered, the highest peak of the range 
will perhaps be named in a way which the 
innate modesty of the prophet restrains him 
from specifying with greater particularity. 
Meanwhile it is long to wait, and tourists 
and residents alike must find what comfort 
they can in the lesser hills which, thanks to 
the good appetite of their predecessors, are 
already theirs. For my own part, there is 
one such eminence of which I cherish the 
most grateful recollections. It stands (or 
stood; the road-makers had begun carting 
it away) at a bend in the road just south of 
one of the Turnbull canals. I climbed it 
often (it can hardly be less than fifteen or 
