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ECHOES FROM THE ORIENT. By P. L. STANTON. Rev. P. L. Stanton, a native of Georgia, is now and has been for some time a resident of Jerusalem. The following article is the first of several which we hope to present to our readers from time to time, accompanied by pictures of localities which have not been heretofore, so far as our knowledge goes, presented to the people of this country in the man ner they will be treated in our columns: Origin of the Story of Venus and Adonis To fully appreciate what the accompanying illus trations are meant to represent, one must have just come from Palestine in mid-summer when its rock crowned hills, glowing with heat, are barren and desolate, and when the vegetation of its valleys is parched and dead. It was on August 9, 1904, when the one who held the camera and Mr. Smith who appeal's in some of the illustrations had their first view’ of Nahr Ibrahim, “River Abraham,” and the ancient bridge whose broad arch spans the stream near where it flows into the Mediterranean Sea. It was some days later when, far up the slopes of the great Lebanon Range, they saw the sources of this river and the charming waterfalls which follow each other in rapid succession just below the foun tains. But it is not to tell of the natural charms of this stream and the surrounding scenery, tempt- BRIDGE OVER RIVER ADONIS. ing as that may be, that I am now to write, but to tell of the origin of a well-known and interesting mythological story which has made its way into our literature. It is not generally known in America, even in Atlanta, that the story of Venus and Adonis had its origin far over the seas, in the land of Syria, and here on the banks of this stream which the an cient Greco-Phenicians called the River Adonis, but so it was. If we count all the descending miles from where these crystal waters burst forth from amid the great moss-covered boulders, far up under the lofty cliffs of the Lebanon, down to where they lose themselves in the blue waters of the great “Middle Sea,” the distance would not be sufficient to inspire Americans, in their land of long rivers, with any very great deal of awe. Indeed, they might be disposed to question as to whether or not this famous stream deserved to be called a river, but it is an important river now, and was so regard ed by the ancient Phoenicians. It was here on its banks and among that people, skilled in art and literature, that the the ancient Greeks found the story of Venus and Adonis and whence they trans ported it to their own clime. From classic Greece Shakespeare bore it away to Britain’s Isle, and gave it immortality in English verse. It was to this spot where the river, after flowing under the broad arch of this quaint old bridge, soon empties itself into the sea, that the women of an cient Gebal, about five miles away, came to bewail the untimely death of the handsome young Adonis, or to rejoice in his fancied resurrection. At the autumnal equinox they came to mourn Adonis, “their lord,” slain by the wild boar, or at the ver- The Golden Age for July 19, 1906. nal quinox to celebrate his new birth. To the an cient Phoenician Gebalites, it was to bewail Tam muz, “the Sun of Life,” feigning to find his head in the sea, or to rejoice in his new birth, professing to find his infant form floating on the bosom of the river in a. cradle of papyrus. In the following verses Milton blends the two versions: “Tammuz came next behind, Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured The Syrian damsels to lament his fate In amorous ditties all a summer’s day; 'While smooth Adonis from his native rock Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood Os Tammuz, yearly wounded.” At the season of the year when the waters of the river became most abundant from the melting snows they brought down soil which so colored them as to give them a fancied resemblance to the blood of the slain hero. It is easy to see that the dying down of vegetation in the fall and its seeming to come back to life in the spring had much to do in giving form to the story. The idolatrous features of the celebrations were the occasion of severe de nunciations by the Hebrew prophet. (Ezekiel 8:14 etc.) To find a more fascinating spot than even this down by the sea, we seek the head-waters of this river, up at Alka, ancient Aphek, where those cool and crystal waters, after they have made their way down from the upper heights of the Lebanon, com ing through soil and crevices in rocks, finally in triumphant song, break forth in all the strength and beauty of a full-grown river, and go leaping wildly and joyfully down over cliffs, making, in rapid succession, as charming cataracts as can be found in any land. Hard by the fountains and with in easy reach of the music of the cataracts, and close under the towering cliffs which rise perpen dicularly a thousand feet, are the remains, now blackened by age, of the once proud and graceful Temple of Venus. The heaps of stone, some in place and most part scattered in confusion, are too much intruded upon by vegetation, by the dust of their own decay and by that caused by the disinte gration of the cliffs which rise above them, for the camera to give even a faint idea of the extent and importance of the remains. This temple was to mark the spot famed by the loves of Venus for the youth so celebrated for his beauty, and was dedi cated to the worship of that goddess. In the time of Constantine the Great the elaborate ceremonies used in the worship had become so grossly licen tious that he had the temple destroyed and the worship stopped. Thus the works of men’s hands decay in blacken ed ruins, and the chantings of worship which once broke forth from the halls of that temple and echoed back from those neighboring cliffs have been hushed forever, but, night and day, winter and sum mer, spring and autumn, the music of gushing foun tains and leaning waterfalls, the handiwork of God, goes welling up in gladdest strains to Him who made mountain, vale, and river. By the fountains and along the banks of the river bloom many beau tiful flowers, but none more lovely than the “Flos Adonis,” popularly called “the blood-drop.” A legend tells us the rich blood-coloring of the flower comes from the blood of the slain Adonis. The tiny flower is found over all of Syria, and seems to do its best to make its blood-tint worthy the sacrifice it cost. . One might go the world around, and notTiml a more charmingly romantic spot than this one chos en as the birth-place of this mythological legend, but what grotesque figures are sometimes associat ed with such scenes! This may be illustrated in A Strange Incident which happened to our little party as we were leav ing Afka with its temple remains, fountains, and waterfalls, August 15, 1904. In the path better adapted to rocky mountain goats than to horses or human beings, we suddenly overtook a wild, repul sive looking creature in the way of a deaf mute girl whose diminutive and diseased brain could hardly be imagined as capable of a single intelligent thought. It was at the moment we had become un certain as to whether or not we should continue in the path or turn to the left up a path still more steep and rugged. In a moment a Hash of intelligence lit up the face of that freak of na ture, and she, seeming to fully comprehend our dif ficulty, instantly sprang and began climb ing up the sleep and rugged way, beckoning us to follow. When we turned our horses to obey, there was an indescribable chuckle of—satisfaction, I suppose it might be denominated, came from that strange creature. We had to dismount, for the danger of merely leading a horse along such away was equal to the demand on our part for adventure. Onward ami upward we toiled, stopping now and then to rest ourselves and horses. When near a mighty cliff, under the shadow of which our path was to go for nearly a mile, our guide turned a lit tle aside to a spot where a few sheaves of grain, some dirty rags, and a filthy, antiquated mat desig nated her abiding place. Never was the instinct of i . ‘ A Wife* S aAAA ' ■ ' ’ T■’ ■ . IBM NAHR IBRAHIM AND OLD BRIDGE. hospitality more forcibly manifested than when she drawing a water-jar from its hiding under some brush, offered us a draught of nature’s truest, sweetest beverage. That jar had been filled at the fountains far below, and laboriously, yea, painfully borne up the steep way, upon the bruised and weary shoulder of that afflicted daughter of na ture, and yet we were welcome to quench our burn ing thirst from its precious contents. Our feel ings must have been something like those of David when, in appreciation of the danger and sacrifice in volved in securing the water from the well by the gate of Bethlehem, he poured it out as an oblation to the Lord (2 Sam. 23:15-17). May she have the reward, and more, promised to the one who shall give a cup of cold water to a disciple of the Lord! When Mr. Smith dropped a few little coins into the hand of that poor, wretched creature, there could be no words of thanks—words are often but false and hollow pretenses—but there was a look toward heaven, and a sound indescribable, but nev er to be forgotten. As we came away from that deserted, desolate being 1 found myself wondering if I would ever meet her again. Yes! we shall meet again, was the instant thought. Deny it as we may, that deformed, filthy, repulsive disowned crea ture, shunned by all of us on earth, is our sister, and we shall see her again. Jerusalem, Palestine, P. L. Stanton. It is an old fact that South Africa owes three of her greatest industries to Jews. De Pass developed the whaling and guano industries, Andrade that of ostrich farming, and Mosenthal the wool and hide trades. 7