Lyon County Times

Machine Poetry.

The following lines were handed into The Times office by a gentleman who said he picked them up in the road between Gold Hill and Silver City:

A certain man on fortune's stream,
Glides smoothly by as if on cream.
He stumbled on, and yet won fame,
Each daily paper puffs his name;
Renowned for naught except his gold,
Deprived of wealth his fame would mold.
He gnaws and chews a mild cigar
And tipples at a two bit bar
Choice old Kentuck, his proffered dram-
A wolf wrapped up in skin of lamb;
If closely watched, can oft be seen,
Throwing kisses at a sweet sixteen
His tongue is slimy with deceit,
A rascal and counterfeit
The gallows yet may be his fate,
Or bell -- still more appropriate -
He should be tied up to a tree,
And stung to death by wasp and bee.
He robs the poor each day he lives;
God may, but I cannot forgive.