THE FIRST JULEP.

I love the lazy Southern spring,

The way she melts around a chap

And lets the great magnolias fling

Their languid petals in his lap.

I love to travel down half-way

And meet her coming up the earth,

With hurdy-gurdy men who play

And make the children dance for mirth.

But best of all I love to steer

For quiet corners not too far,

Where the first juleps reappear

With fresh green mint behind the bar.

P. S. Perhaps you'll think it queer,

But I do not dislike a hint

To let the juleps disappear

And stick my nose into the mint.