During a visit to Regency England, American writer Washington Irving attended a country church one Sunday. Watching the congregation closely, he noticed with approval the good manners shown by the family of a peer of the realm, who chatted pleasantly with all classes and kept an unassuming profile while nonetheless setting a proper example of Lord’s Day decorum.

Next, Irving turned his attention to a self-made man from the City, who had bought his way into society and now turned up to the church with his family in a showy carriage sparkling with silver and dotted all over with heraldry. From the proud horses to the coachman’s hat and dog, everything was an unmistakable declaration of wealth.

The appearance of the passengers from within the carriage did nothing to change Irving’s unfavourable first impressions. The City man was full of bluster, his wife cheerfully out of place, and his daughters would not meet any eye except the eyes of their titled neighbours — who seemed, however, as eager as good breeding allowed not to meet theirs.

176 words