ser to be quite passive than to
attempt a ridiculous flight pursued by a bawling man.

"I'm no more drunk nor you are, nor so much," said Dagley. "I can
carry my liquor, an' I know what I meean. An' I meean as the King 'ull
put a stop to 't, for them say it as knows it, as there's to be a
Rinform, and them landlords as never done the right thing by their
tenants 'ull be treated i' that way as they'll hev to scuttle off. An'
there's them i' Middlemarch knows what the Rinform is--an' as knows
who'll hev to scuttle. Says they, 'I know who _your_ landlord is.'
An' says I, 'I hope you're the better for knowin' him, I arn't.' Says
they, 'He's a close-fisted un.' 'Ay ay,' says I. 'He's a man for the
Rinform,' says they. That's what they says. An' I made out what the
Rinform were--an' it were to send you an' your likes a-scuttlin' an'
wi' pretty strong-smellin' things too. An' you may do as you like now,
for I'm none afeard on you. An' you'd better let my boy aloan, an'
look to yoursen, afore the Rinform has got upo' your back. That's what
I'n got to say," concluded Mr. Dagley, striking his fork into the
ground with a firmness which proved inconvenient as he tried to draw it
up again.

At this last action Monk began to bark loudly, and it was a moment for
Mr. Brooke to escape. He walked out of the yard as quickly as he
could, in some amazement at the novelty of his situation. He had never
been insulted on his own land before, and had been inclined to regard
himself as a general favorite (we are all apt to do so, when we think
of our own amiability more than of what other people are likely to want
of us). When he had quarrelled with Caleb Garth twelve years before he
had thought that the tenants would be pleased at the landlord's taking
everything into his own hands.

Some who follow the narrative of his experience may wonder at the
midnight darkness of Mr. Dagley; but nothing was easier in those times
than for an hereditary farmer of his grade to be ignorant, in spite
somehow of having a rector in the twin parish who was a gentleman to
the backbone, a curate nearer at hand who preached more learnedly than
the rector, a landlord who had gone into everything, especially fine
art and social improvement, and all the lights of Middlemarch only
three miles off. As to the facility with which mortals escape
knowledge, try an average acquaintance in the intellectual blaze of
London, and consider what that eligible person