03.08.2021 | History

2 edition of Prose works of Henry Lawson. found in the catalog.

Prose works of Henry Lawson.

kritisch hergestellt

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  • 216 Currently reading

Published by Administrator in Home Entertainment Library

  • United States
    • Subjects:
    • Home Entertainment Library

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      • Includes index of stories.

        StatementHome Entertainment Library
        PublishersHome Entertainment Library
        LC Classifications1935
        The Physical Object
        Paginationxvi, 66 p. :
        Number of Pages72
        ID Numbers
        ISBN 10nodata

        nodata File Size: 7MB.

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Prose works of Henry Lawson. by Home Entertainment Library Download PDF EPUB FB2

My book titled "The Prose Works of Henry Lawson" Volume II was published in 1935 by Home Entertainment Library, but is not listed on Goodreads data base. Henry Lawson wrote numerous poems and short stories. Henry Lawson i birth name: Henry Lawson Larsen a.

Lawson, Henry 1867

It must be near morning now; but the clock is in the dwellinghouse. To the west is a dam, holding back a broad, shallow sheet of grey water, with dead trees standing in it. The Old Bulletin Reader : The Best Stories from The Bulletin 1881—1901 1973• Five minutes passed, and then the prose works of Henry Lawson. of Mitchell was heard again, uninterrupted by the clatter of tinware. He was short, and stout, and bow-legged, and freckled, and sandy. He has no water-bag; carries his water in a billy; and how he manages without a bag is known only to himself.

I hope the recording angel listens, and puts it down on the right side of his book. They say that a past Ministry commenced to clear the road from Bourke, under the impression that Hungerford was an important place, and went on, with the blindness peculiar to governments, till they got to within two miles of the town.

He saw Tom, and Tom saw him, and smoked through a hole in the palings into the scrub. Henry Lawson was an Australian writer and poet. You can whistle and sing by the camp-fire, and make poetry, and breathe fresh air, and watch the everlasting stars that keep the mateless traveller from going mad as he lies in his lonely camp on the plains.

He eased down the swag against a post, turned his face to the city, tilted his hat forward, and scratched the well-developed back of his head with a little finger.

I got sick of dodging that girl. She gets him something good to eat, and tidies up the children. She thinks of things in her own life, for there is little else to think about. He also objected to charring the butts. He swore he could see a glass yet, and Joe laughed, but looked extra troubled the next moment.