Sprig is a contemporary serif type family with round, friendly details. Inspired by early versions of Cheltenham by Bertram Grosvenor Goodhue, Sprig began as a revival but over time grew away from its roots and into a more modern, geometric typeface. The type retains iconic details from Goodhue’s Cheltenham like the open counter g and round teardrop terminals, but has updated proportions to increase legibility and usability. A wide number of OpenType features provide access to special characters like swash caps, ligatures, and alternate glyphs.
Cheltenham was the world’s first full-fledged large type family, and Sprig follows in its footsteps. Drawn digitally with a rigorous attention to every detail, the type shines in all sizes and the wide range of weights allow for a wide breadth of expression without leaving the family. The Sprig collection also includes Sprig Sans, a friendly geometric grotesk typeface, with matching proportions and weights to its serif counterpart. All Faire Type typefaces are available as variable fonts, for maximum flexiblity and precision typesetting.
- Sprig Variable
- Weight 400
They always called it Magic and indeed it seemed like it in the months that followed—the wonderful months—the radiant months—the amazing ones. Oh! the things which happened in that garden! If you have never had a garden you cannot understand, and if you have had a garden you will know that it would take a whole book to describe all that came to pass there. At first it seemed that green things would never cease pushing their way through the earth, in the grass, in the beds, even in the crevices of the walls. Then the green things began to show buds and the buds began to unfurl and show color, every shade of blue, every shade of purple, every tint and hue of crimson. In its happy days flowers had been tucked away into every inch and hole and corner. Ben Weatherstaff had seen it done and had himself scraped out mortar from between the bricks of the wall and made pockets of earth for lovely clinging things to grow on. Iris and white lilies rose out of the grass in sheaves, and the green alcoves filled themselves with amazing armies of the blue and white flower lances of tall delphiniums or columbines or campanulas. “She was main fond o’ them—she was,” Ben Weatherstaff said. “She liked them things as was allus pointin’ up to th’ blue sky, she used to tell. Not as she was one o’ them as looked down on th’ earth—not her. She just loved it but she said as th’ blue sky allus looked so joyful.” The seeds Dickon and Mary had planted grew as if fairies had tended them. Satiny poppies of all tints danced in the breeze by the score, gaily defying flowers which had lived in the garden for years and which it might be confessed seemed rather to wonder how such new people had got there. And the roses—the roses!