The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1918-10-12
AT FIFTY
(By George Lizotte.)

cts the lonesomeness of fifty" sale
my friend, Harrington; you will ov
ercome it," Perhaps" said l. "At
fifty we are in the intermission or
the stage of life," continued my
friend; the curtain has just gone
down and one wonders what the fina
act will be; Pierre Lott said the un
certainties of the last act frightens
one and is always dreaded at fifty"
I was still bordering over my
| friends remarks when found my
self on the banks of Lake Miro,
whose placid waters mirrored in its
depths the tall oaks covered witt
MOSES, with here and there palm
Green patches of verdure out O.
which long rows of orange trees
seemed to spring from, We're reflect
ed; the whole bordered by thicl
growth of water hyacinths seemed tt
invite a wandering Naiad for E
plunge in it's translucent waters;
sat on a rustic bench, signing; the
curtain going down on the last act
could not hide from my memory the
"reminiscences it tried to obliterate-
"reminiscences that bring about the
lonesomeness of fifty.
The sun, as If reluctant to leave
this enchanted spot, radiated its rays
between the trees, reaching the sur
fact of the lake here and there in
violet reflections; long shadows
reaching from shore to shore, ghost
like, soon hid the waters, irridescent
rays skipping here and there would
disappear among the foliage. p last
silvery light, then everything is
Opaque. It is night, beautiful night!
But night without adventures! Night
celebrating day! Night at fifty!
A table under overhanging crimson
clematis, half hidden by clumps OF
oleadners, whose fragrance permeat-
ed the surrounding atmosphere. at
tracted me. Where had l seen this
table before, these clematis, these
oleanders, the shimmering Of the
moon on the waters Of the lake, the
shimmering of the moon on the wa
tiers of the lake? The surroundings
seemed familiar. A voice startled me
"Ah cest tot; Mails qui Yvonne y
was waiting for you. You wanted me-
at fifty, so I came"
I looked at her; what change!
had known Yvonne thirty years ago
Our ages then combined did not coun,
up to forty. Gay, capricious, always
laughing Yvonne! With Yvonne il
was always either rose or thorn
She radiated the beauty personified III
herself to the joy or the misery OF
her admirers among whom I was the
most ardent This woman who now
came to me was tall and angular
Her hair which at one time had in
spired me into sonnets famous among
my friends, was gray, almost white
gathered into chignon under a vel
vet hat, She sat down opposite me
"Yvonne, where have you been all
these years? Oh, how well l remem-
Der our last meeting and quarrel
Let me see it was Marcel was it not
In my jealous rage told you hated
you; did |, Yvonne? II did at twenty
then why the memory of it at fifty@
"Ah c'est tot Yvonne!" A ringing
laugh answered me as two arms en-
circled my neck. | kissed the rose
pink hands thus offered me; then arm
in arm we started together toward the
Seine, 1t was Sunday. Groups of
Parisians with huge baskets of pro-
visions where necks of wine bottles
protruded from under white napkins.
crowded each other at the entrance
OF the gates leading toward the
bateaux which were to distribute
them all along the bank of the Seine
as far as Boulogne Sur Seine; bour-
geois, on whose arm hung a grisette
from the Faubourg carried his en-
bompoint iauntily along; clerks, ouv-
riers, students! It was beautiful
day and all Paris was out.
Yvonne clinging to my arm was
laughing; she was always laughing
acknowledging the salutes of her &C.
quaintances. We took the omnibus
to Auteuil. Close side by side we sat
my heart swelling with pride and
happiness. Her hair carressed me
every time a puff of wind blew hel
, golden curls from under her hit.