practical importance.

In 1669, we find Ellwood engaged in escorting his fair friend, Gulielma,
to her uncle's residence in Sussex. Passing through London, and taking
the Tunbridge road, they stopped at Seven Oak to dine. The Duke of York
was on the road, with his guards and hangers-on, and the inn was filled
with a rude company. "Hastening," says Ellwood, "from a place where we
found nothing but rudeness, the roysterers who swarmed there, besides the
damning oaths they belched out against each other, looked very sourly
upon us, as if they grudged us the horses which we rode and the clothes
we wore." They had proceeded but a little distance, when they were
overtaken by some half dozen drunken rough-riding cavaliers, of the
Wildrake stamp, in full pursuit after the beautiful Quakeress. One of
them impudently attempted to pull her upon his horse before him, but was
held at bay by Ellwood, who seems, on this occasion, to have relied
somewhat upon his "stick," in defending his fair charge. Calling up
Gulielma's servant, he bade him ride on one side of his mistress, while
he guarded her on the other. "But he," says Ellwood, "not thinking it
perhaps decent to ride so near his mistress, left room enough for another
to ride between." In dashed the drunken retainer, and Gulielma was once
more in peril. It was clearly no time for exhortations and
expostulations; "so," says Ellwood, "I chopped in upon him, by a nimble
turn, and kept him at bay. I told him I had hitherto spared him, but
wished him not to provoke me further. This I spoke in such a tone as
bespoke an high resentment of the abuse put upon us, and withal pressed
him so hard with my horse that I suffered him not to come up again to
Guli." By this time, it became evident to the companions of the
ruffianly assailant that the young Quaker was in earnest, and they
hastened to interfere. "For they," says Ellwood, "seeing the contest
rise so high, and probably fearing it would rise higher, not knowing