San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1896-04-12
THE STRAWBERRY BOX.

Dearly Beloved! The Lenten sea-
son is over, Easter is past and gone,
the forty days of abstinence are
only a memory, festivity is no
longer under the ban, the flowers
are blooming and the flower battle
draws near, the voice of spring
dies out of the ear as the football
of summer is heard and the festive
strawberry appears in all of its
blushing glory. Be it remember
ed, however, that the only blush is
upon the boxes, and not upon the
faces of those who pack them. To
thcm there is no blush, for do
they not obey the scripture injun-
ction, not to let your right hand
know what your left hand doeth;
or, what is the same thing, not to
let the fullness of the top of the
berry box know the emptiness of
the bottom thereof.
Beloved! this is the mystery of
the berry box. Behold! How full
a top an empty bottom containeth.
Pass along the streets where the
berry box in general, and the
strawberry box in particular, holds
forth. How all-glorious the colors
of the crimson beauties; how soft
ly blending the shades; how spot
less the perfection of the single
specimens that crown the tempt
ing piles how full, to bursting al
most, the rich profusion of the
heaped up surface; how fragrant
the appefzing odors that rise as
you iphaN their aroma; how APP
1pfopriate their richness for a feast
of the gods; how lovingly they mes
tie in the beds Of their temporary
repose; how invitingly they appeal
to pour palate; how eloquently to
sense of sight and touch and smell
and taste they speak their own
praises.
As you stand and look, every ar
tistic sense in you is made glad.
AS you glance down the long rows
OF boxes so temptingly displayed,
there is only sense of pleasant
contemplation in your mind. You
turn, in thought, instinctively
from the boxes to the home where
in the boxing was done; from the
berry before you to the bed where
on it was born. You fancy the
deep green setting in which the
crimson babies of the box before
you lay, the morning dew frseh
upon them, the rosy checked lads
and lasses deity plucking the ripe
ones, tenderly fingering.the vines,
leaving the uarips for farther
transt6Snation under the burning
Bushes of the sun. You turn away
from natures picture book with its
Interesting object lesson, and later
follow the orphaned berries, taken
from their mother bed to the cool
packing house, shortly to reappear
on the vans that convey them to
the station.
You imagine them in theirr ush :
ing prison, sounding over bridges,
rafting over rails, until they are
safely delivered at their market
destination. You think Of all this
and more, then turn again to study
the scene before you. You note
that the dainty children OF culture
and the street arabs alike, stop and
look lovingly and longingly at the
boxes displayed in the stalls. You
see the daughters of luxury and the
humble sisters of forced economy.
each in their own way appraising
the beauty and the flavor, the rich
ness and the fragrance, as they
make selections from the tempting
rows. AS you stand and take il
the scene it seems that there arr
berries for all, prices to suit an
perfection according to price
There is fascination about tn
whole process as you watch, alnd il
the various methods in which tn
berry boxes are handled and beer
ted or rejected you reaa ~ UNI
ofnsrsonal taste, a pa anil.
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