News from Nowhere; Or, An Epoch of Rest / Being Some Chapters from a Utopian Romance

t started from the waterside; for King Street was gone, and the highway ran through wide sunny meadows and garden-like tillage. The Creek, which we crossed at onc

ich were by the necessity of their construction so like medi?val houses of the same materials that I fairly felt as if I were alive in the fourteenth century; a sensation helped out by the costume of the people that we met or passed, in whose dress there was nothing "modern." Almost everybody was gaily dressed, but especially the women, who were s

ose the steep lead-covered roof and the buttresses and higher part of the wall of a great hall, of a splendid and exuberant style of architecture, of which one can say little more than that it seemed to me to embrace the best qualities of the Gothic of northern Europe with those of the Saracenic and Byzantine, thou

life that I was exhilarated to a pitch that I had never yet reached. I fairly chuckled for pleasure. My friend seemed to understand it, and sat looking on me with a pleased and affectionate interest. We had pulled

it is; but what market is it that it is so splendid? And what is t

oud of it. Of course the hall inside is our winter Mote-House; for in summer we mostly meet in the fields

a fool if I d

of damascened bronze. We will look at them later in the day, perhaps: but we ought to be getting on now. As to the ma

he regular country people? What very

dressed in a pretty light-green dress in honour of the season and the hot day, who smiled kindl

ry-looking people I should have expected to

of these islands which are rougher and rainier than we are here, and there people are rougher in their dress; and they themselves are tougher and more hard-bitten than we are to look at. But some people like

peas, and I felt that disappointed kind of feeling which overtakes one when one has seen an interesting or lovely face in the streets which on

is likely to be within doors, or at best crawling about the garden: but I don't know

an sick people. I mean poor p

long quick to my great-grandfather, who will understand you better than I do. Come