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.