September 8, 1870. ] 



JOUENAL OF HORTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 



177 









WEEKLY 



CALENDAR. 















Day 



of 



Month 



Day 



of 

 Week. 



SEPTEMBER 8—14, 1870. 



Average Tempera- 

 ture near London. 



Rain in 



last 

 43 yeaiB. 



Sun 

 Rises. 



Sun 

 Sets. 



Moon 

 RiBes. 



Moon 

 Sets. 



Moon's 

 Age. 



Clock 

 after 

 Sun. 



Day 

 of 



Year. 



8 

 9 

 10 

 11 

 12 

 18 

 14 



Th 

 F 



S 



Sun 



M 



Tu 



W 



Crystal Palace Florists' Flower Show closes. 



Length of Day 12h. 58m. 

 13 Sunday after Trinity. 



Nottingham Horticultural Show. 



Day. 

 69.4 

 69.1 

 69.7 

 63.7 

 69.1 

 68.4 

 67.0 



Nisht. 

 48.0 

 48.1 

 45.5 

 47.0 

 44.8 

 45.7 

 46.1 



Mean. 

 58.7 

 68.3 

 57.6 

 57.8 

 57.0 

 57.0 

 66.5 



Davs. 

 19 

 19 

 21 

 11 

 16 

 19 

 22 



m. h. 



25af5 

 2i 5 

 27 5 

 29 5 



81 5 



82 5 



83 5 



m. h. 

 29 af 6 

 27 6 

 25 6 

 22 6 

 20 6 

 18 6 

 16 6 



m. b. 

 29 af 6 

 51 6 

 11 7 

 28 7 

 46 7 

 5 8 

 24 8 



m. b. 

 13 af S 

 24 4 

 35 5 

 44 6 

 52 6 

 57 8 

 3 10 



Davs. 

 18 



a 



15 

 16 

 17 

 IS 

 19 



m. s. 

 2 24 



2 45 

 8 6 



3 26 

 8 47 



4 8 

 4 29 



251 



252 

 253 

 254 

 255 

 256 

 257 



From observations taken near London during the last forty-three years, the average day temperature of the week is 68.8°, and its night 

 temperature 46.4°. The greatest heat was 88\ on the 13th, 1865; and the lowest cold 28',' on the 12th, 1860. The greatest Jail of rain was 

 1.27 inch. 



RAMBLES ABOUT CORBRIDGE. 



SANDHOE. 



WAS spending the vacation at Corbridge, an 

 old village on the Tyne, in the centre of the 

 garden of Northumberland — an old village, 

 nobody knows how old, with an old church, 

 a grand old church, and an old stone bridge, 

 very long, very narrow, and abominably dusty, 

 with always the same old man on it with an 

 old barrow and shovel, engaged in the ma- 

 nure line of business. It was a hot day — I 

 cannot say what the glass was standing at 

 in the shade, but the cows were all standing up to their 

 knees in the river, illustrating the theory of perpetual 

 motion with their tails. I sauntered down to the river- 

 side to a small piece of what I thought was unenclosed 

 waste ground. It looked like it, though there was an old 

 broken rail fence on one side. I think Corbridge shoots 

 its rubbish there when it has any to shoot. The old 

 fence, a very shabby old fence, ran down almost to the 

 water's edge, or what would be the water's edge when 

 the rains swelled the river, which now, with its gravelly 

 bed laid bare through the long drought, was lazily creep- 

 ing on towards the bridge, on which I could just see the 

 old man's head bobbing up and down above the parapet : 

 he was evidently reaping a rich harvest of ammoniacal de- 

 posits that morning. The other side of the fence looking 

 rather more inviting, but not much, I stepped over the rail 

 and sat down. I cannot say I was comfortable. There 

 was not much grass, and my seat was hard ; besides, I was 

 pestered by the flies, impertinent, inquisitive flies, with 

 a thirst for a knowledge, geographical and anatomical, of 

 my epidermis. It was not by any means a pleasant spot, 

 but such as it was I was not allowed to occupy it long. 

 A lad, who seemed half afraid or half ashamed (let us 

 hope he was : he was a decent-looking lad) to deliver his 

 message, came to me with an intimation that I was to " go 

 away, go away; it's private property, private property," 

 and then he retreated ; and so did I in the face of a " notice,'" 

 which I had not observed before, to the effect that if I 

 were found trespassing on that ground, or drying my 

 clothes on its fences, I should be prosecuted with the 

 utmost rigour of the law. The launch of a paper ship with 

 a dandelion mast, which I was under contract to complete 

 for " Jacky," was deferred to a more convenient season ; for 

 which demurrage he suggested that the sum of id. would 

 be an acceptable equivalent, to be invested in a donkey-ride. 

 The donkey tariff in Corbridge is, with or without a saddle 

 (which is always a side- saddle, difficult to put on, and apt 

 to slip round, but very handy to hold on by), id. an hour; 

 ditto with cart without springs, but plenty of straw, Sd. 



But what has this to do with Sandhoe ? A good deal. 

 The donkey took us to Sandhoe. I went rather against 

 my inclination ; I am certain he went contrary to his, 

 though he was on the whole a well-behaved ass, not given 

 to rubbing against walls or rolling in dusty roads. I would 

 rather have been off among the grand old woods about 

 Dilston than on terraced walks or among flower beds and 

 No. 493.— Vol. SIX., New Series. 



ribbon borders. I wanted rather to get away from Nature 

 " with her hair cut," than to travel over hot dusty roads under 

 a broiling July sun to see a specimen however beautiful. 

 I was anxious to get away from the " noise and smoke of 

 the clearings," as my eldest boy, who is great in Indian 

 story, has it. He carries colours and chalks (war-paint he 

 calls them) in his pocket, and when we were in the woods 

 was continually waylaying poor Jacky, and scalping him. 

 Once he tried to make me a party to a horrible plot, pro- 

 posing that I should let him touch me up with a bit of 

 vermilion and a flannel blue-bag, and then rush in and 

 carry his mamma into captivity, when he would give me 

 five minutes' start and fjllow my trail, and when he had 

 rescued her, would tie me to a tree, and show me how 

 near he could come with his knife without hitting me. 



I shall never reach Sandhoe at this rate, which is just 

 what I thought toiling up the hillside that hot July day. 

 Once there, my only regret was that I had deferred my visit 

 so long, and that I had not more time at disposal to exa- 

 mine all the beauties of the place. Sandhoe, the seat of 

 Sir Rowland Stanley Errington, Bart., is most delightfully 

 placed on the hillside on the left or north bank of the 

 Tyne, about midway between Hexham and Corbridge, 

 adjoining the lordly manor of Beaufront. The principal 

 entrance to the grounds is through a beautiful gateway 

 surmounted by a massive stone arch, but I entered this 

 little paradise through a private door opening on a winding 

 path, hedged in with Laurels of most luxuriant growth, 

 leading to what I may call Terrace No. 1, the arrangement 

 of the grounds being a system of terraces, a plan necessi- 

 tated by the nature of the site, and worked out in detail 

 by the head gardener, Mr. Marshall, with infinite skili. 



The first terrace was a Rose walk, which my attendant, 

 an intelligent young Scotchman, informed me is 200 yards 

 long, and I can only describe it as one continuous bower 

 of Roses carpeted with velvet pile. The most striking 

 feature in it is a series of festoons formed by connecting 

 the uprights of some rustic work on either side with light 

 chains both longitudinally and transversely, the whole being 

 clothed with masses of lovely Roses. The coup d'ceil is 

 charming. 



An easy descent from this fairy palace leads to a beau- 

 tiful sloping lawn stretching away in a bold circular sweep 

 from the west-end of the house, which faces terrace No. 2, 

 the terrace. The higher part of the lawn is scalloped its 

 entire length with flower beds of elegant design, something 

 like a series of inverted fleur-de-lis. Looking at them as 

 they lie on the slope with the apex towards you, the outer 

 row of plants next the grass, forming an edging to the bed, 

 is Cerastium something -osum, then blue Lobelia and Golden 

 Pyrethrura mixed, with the centre, or body of the bed, 

 Calceolarias and scarlet Geraniums in each alternate scal- 

 lop, while at the base of each stands either an Ivy-covered 

 vase or an Irish Yew. I have never seen Ivy turned to 

 such purposes as it is at Sandhoe. Some of the long 

 slopes are of Ivy, and very effective they are. The west- 

 end of the lawn is bounded by the woods of Beaufront, 

 consisting of fine specimens of Larch, Oak, Beech, and 

 Lime, with ornamental Pines and other Conifers on the 



No. 1145.— Vol.. XLIV., Old Series. 



