Woodham, a mile distant down the road, bears a name recalling the times when it was in fact a hamlet in those oak woods of which we spoke at Aycliffe. It is now just a group of two or three cottages and a humble inn, the “Stag,” in a dip of the way. Beyond it comes Rushyford Bridge, a pretty scene, where a little tributary of the Skerne prattles over its stony bed and disappears under the road beside that old-time posting-house and inn, the “Wheatsheaf.” The old house still stands and faces down the road; but it has long since ceased to be an inn, and, remodelled in recent taste, is now a private residence. The old drive up to the house is now converted into lawns and flower-beds. Groups of that graceful tree, the black poplar, overhang the scene and shade the little hamlet that straggles down a lane to the left hand. The old “Wheatsheaf” has its memories. It was a favourite resort of Lord Eldon’s. Holt, the landlord, was a boon companion of his. The great lawyer’s vacations were for many years spent here, and he established a cellar of his own in the house, stocked chiefly with “Carbonell’s Fine Old Military Blackstrap Newcastle Port,” of which, although they were decidedly not military, he and his host used to drink seven bottles a day between them, valiant topers that they were. On Saturdays—we have it on the authority of Sydney Smith—they drank eight bottles; the extra one being to fortify themselves against the Sunday morning’s service. Lord Eldon invariably attended church at Rushyford, and compelled his unwilling host to go with him. In London he rarely went, remarking when reproached that he, a buttress of the church, should fail in his devotions, that he was “only an outside buttress.” [Picture: Rushyford Bridge] Lord Eldon was a mean man. It is a defect to be noticed in many others who, like him, have acquired wealth by great personal efforts; with him, however, it reached a height and quality not frequently met. He was not merely “stingy,” but mean in the American sense of the word. Contemporary with Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, and other valiant “four-bottle men” of a century ago, and with an almost unlimited capacity for other persons’ port, his brother, Lord Stowell, aptly said of him that “he would take any _given_ quantity.”