midnight
_ December _ 25 _ th _ , 1878 . -- Lucy is still asleep ; the rest of the house is just stirring . I am in my study looking out on the snowy garden and the frosted trees , which are as yet fair and white , though in a few hours the breath of Manchester will have polluted them . ` Last night I went with Lucy and Dora to the midnight service at St. Damian 's . It pleased them that I went ; and I thought the service , with its bells , its resonant _ Adeste fideles _ , and its white flowers , singularly beautiful and touching . And yet , in truth , I was only happy in it because I was so far removed from it ; because the legend of Bethlehem and the mythology of the Trinity are no longer matters of particular interest or debate with me ; because after a period of three-fourths assent , followed by one lasting over years of critical analysis and controversial reading , I have passed of late into a conception of Christianity far more positive , fruitful , and human than I have yet held . I would fain believe it the Christianity of the future .