Text: John R. Thompson, “Edgar A. Poe and the Juleps,” Lippincott's Magazine (Philadelphia, PA), vol. IX, no. 33, May 1872, p. 599

EDGAR A. POE AND THE JULEPS.

JOHN R. THOMPSON succeeded Edgar A. Poe as editor of the Southern Literary Messenger. Fresh from the University, well-to-do in the goods of this world, and justly proud of his position — for the Messenger then was the oldest, and certainly one of the best, magazines in the Union — Thompson lived en prince in a suite of apartments in Main street. One of them, furnished handsomely as a reception-room, contained a beaufet well stocked with the choicest liquors. Into this room came one morning about eleven o’clock a handsome, very intellectual-looking man, who, bowing formally, asked if he had the pleasure of addressing Mr. John R. Thompson.

“Yes,” said Mr. Thompson, who had already risen.

“My name,” said the stranger, ‘is Poe.”

It may be taken for granted that the youthful editor, who was never lacking in courtesy, gave his predecessor just such a reception as the occasion and the man required. If Thompson felt honored by the visit, Poe was more than gratified by the cordiality and unfeigned respect manifested by the young poet. The author of “The Raven” was now seated in an easy-chair. Conversation flowed freely and pleasantly, Poe of course taking the lead, and an hour or two slipped away seemingly in as many moments.

Poe rose to take leave. Thompson entreated him to remain. No, he had an engagement. As he turned toward the door, Poe's eye fell upon the beaufet with its glittering array of silver and cut glass, and a change passed over his grave, handsome face. In an animated tone he said, “Ah! you have a nice little arrangement there, Mr. Thompson. Perhaps you can give me some- thing to drink.”

“Indeed I can,” said Mr. Thompson.

“What will you have ?”

“That depends upon what you’ve got.”

Thompson enumerated several kinds of wine, whisky and French brandy, commending the last as very superior. [column 2:]

Poe chose brandy. Selecting a tumbler of the ordinary size, he lifted the decanter with steady hand and began to pour — one finger, two fingers, three fingers, four fingers, five!

Thompson became alarmed. “Excuse my seeming incivility.”’ said he — “such it really is not, I assure you — but, Mr. Poe, are you — are you not taking a little — just a little — too much for your own good ?”’

“No, sir, not at all,’‘ was the reply. “T know myself thoroughly well, Mr. Thompson, and can gauge myself to a hair. I have had some experience in these matters, and I have discovered about brandy, good French brandy, this remarkable peculiarity — that it is least injurious when you fill the glass as nearly full as possible, and leave room for as little water as possible.’ And the pouring went steadily on till the tumbler was full to the very brim. “Now a drop — just a drop — of water, if you please.”

The drop of water — it was barely more than that — was added, and then, to Thompson's amazement and horror, Poe drained his glass to the bottom.

He lingered a while, and Thompson, fearing the brandy might tell upon his distinguished guest after he got into the street, suggested, as adroitly and respectfully as he could, that a few moments of repose on the sofa might be of service to him.

“Oh no!” said Poe: “you need have no fear for me. The brandy is nothing. I’ve already had thirteen juleps; and now I think I’ll step across the way and get my breakfast!”

Extending his hand in farewell, he bowed stiffly and was gone.