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We have very little to guide us in our conception of the scene. Scripture never quite withdraws the veil which protects, quite as much as it conceals, the life of the mother of our Lord; but we venture reverently to arrange and draw together some side-lights which it is permitted us to catch. There is quiet Nazareth itself, nestling (as only villages in Palestine do) high up in a circlet of protecting hills, like one of those flower-baskets, with creepers hanging over the sides, which we see sometimes caught up between projecting points in a rockery garden. Nazareth, so still, so shut in from the world around, that it is not once mentioned in connection- with any single event in the whole of the Old Testament; not once in the Talmud, where names of obscure places occur in plenty; fist once even in the pages of garrulous Josephus, who enumerates no less than 204 towns and cities in Galilee. "Verily, Thou art a God that hidest Thyself," we feel constrained to say, as we contemplate the future home of Jesus; and we ask for notching better than to enter into the tranquil spirit of the hush of the little mountain town as we venture now to look more closely at her whose home it was. Mary was a "virgin betrothed"; that is all, as yet, that we know about her. To us she is literally "without father, without mother, without descent, having neither beginning of days nor end of life." We have absolutely no clue at all to the interior or the surroundings of her village home. Was she spinning at her wheel, or grinding at the mill, or reading some roll of the prophets? Or was she just then sitting and musing over the great event of the last few days-her betrothal? The last we fancy most likely; for angels' visits, like dreams that are hallowed, argue a preoccupation of the mind in some direction kindred to their holy purpose. So Mary may have been looking back and looking forward: back on the past even, uneventful life, over which now there has moved a spirit of change, and which she can scarcely believe, perhaps does not even wish, ever to be quite the same again: and forward to she hardly knows what; only she is vaguely conscious of new aspirations, timid forecastings, undefined fears. And then, as all faithful Jewish women rightfully might, she would allow herself in some dim dreams of motherhood, and it might even be up for coming events cast their shadows before — that the unbidden thought would just creep across her mind that her betrothed husband and herself were both of the tribe of Judah; and was she to blame for taking to herself the sacred hope which was the heritage of every mother who belonged to the tribe that Jacob had blessed? Then came the angel, familiar to us now in name and mission, but none the less a sign and a wonder at his actual appearance. What form did the angel take? In what voice did he speak? How was he known to be an angel at all? are questions which rush into our minds at once. They will never be answered; we know no more than is written, and the inspired narrative lays upon us the responsibility of unquestioning faith. One point is left to our imagination — the angel's look. We fancy that his kind, steady, searching gaze must have been more eloquent almost than his prefatory words: "Hail, Accepted, the Lord be with thee; blessed thou among women."

(E. T. Marshall, M. A.)

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KJV: And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth,

WEB: Now in the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee, named Nazareth,