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Updated: September 24, 2025
Antonio, the eminent photographers of Regent Street, had written offering to take his portrait gratis, and asking him to deign to fix an appointment for a séance. The editor of Which is Which, a biographical annual of inconceivable utility, had written for intimate details of his age, weight, pastimes, works, ideals, and diet. The proprietary committee of the Park Club in St.
With that limitation, cashiers, paying tellers, other bank officers, attorneys, bookkeepers, business men, conveyancers, county officials, photographers, treasurers and clerks of railroads, etc., and writing teachers have in various cases been held competent to testify as an expert.
"You see, I've not been all tired out with trousseau and engagement affairs and photographers and milliners and all that," she explained, gaily. "I've only got what's in my bag there, but I've wired Aunt Marianna, and told her to tell them all. And we'll be back on Monday wait until I ask my husband; Wolftone, dear, shall we be back on Monday?"
Any day, in the hands of these photographers, you may see stately pictures of papa and mamma, Johnny and Bub and Sis or a couple of country cousins, all smiling vacantly, and all disposed in studied and uncomfortable attitudes in their carriage, and all looming up in their awe-inspiring imbecility before the snubbed and diminished presentment of that majestic presence whose ministering spirits are the rainbows, whose voice is the thunder, whose awful front is veiled in clouds, who was monarch here dead and forgotten ages before this sackful of small reptiles was deemed temporarily necessary to fill a crack in the world's unnoted myriads, and will still be monarch here ages and decades of ages after they shall have gathered themselves to their blood-relations, the other worms, and been mingled with the unremembering dust.
There were pictures of the wreck, "drawn by our artist from description," and there were "descriptions" of all kinds. Special reporters arrived in the village and interviewed everyone they could lay hands on. Abner Mayo felt that for once he was receiving the attention he deserved. The life-saving station and the house by the shore were besieged by photographers and newspaper men.
We had seen pictures in the illustrated papers of deep ditches in which men were packed like sardines, so deep that we wondered how they used their rifles. After we arrived at the front our ideas were changed, and we came to the conclusion that the trenches we had seen depicted at home had been dug for the benefit of photographers, and were situated in some nearby park.
The intruder smiled quietly. "My name is Clarence Chugwater," he said simply. "Jugwater? Dod't doe you frob Adab. What do you want? If you're forb sub paper, I cad't see you now. Cub to-borrow bordig." "I am from no paper." "Thed you're wud of these photographers. I tell you, I cad't see you." "I am no photographer." "Thed what are you?" The other drew himself up.
"Comic writers like Arnal, and photographers like like Nadar?" "Certain." "Then, friend Barbicane, if they are as strong as we are, and even stronger these Selenites why have they not tried to communicate with the earth? why have they not launched a lunar projectile to our terrestrial regions?" "Who told you that they have never done so?" said Barbicane seriously.
'How silly! she exclaimed. 'It is all the fault of those horrid photographers: they vulgarise everything and everybody. I will never be photographed again. 'Oh yes, you will, and in that frock. It's the prettiest thing I've seen for a long time.
Many visitors on board. Wednesday, August 12th. Wind fresh from the southward and eastward. Photographers and visitors on board. The Kwang-Tung made a trial trip of her engines, after having repaired them, with the Admiral's family on board. Wind freshened to a gale towards night.
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