of all-besetting drowsiness that attacks us at sundry times and places.
It is in vain that we lengthen our limbs into an awakening stretch--that
we yawn with the expressive suavity of yawning no more--that we
dislocate our knuckle bones, and ruffle the symmetry of our visage, with
a manual application; like the cleft blaze of a candle, drowsiness
returns again. Well, then, what manner of reader is he that hath never
sinned by drowsing in church time? Let him read on; and I'll realize by
description what he has realized by endurance.

It is after the embodying of a good dinner with ourselves, that doziness
is most tempting. You have dined at four o'clock to-day. Well, that's a
decent Sabbatical hour. After due potations of wine, coffee, &c. your
gratitude is awakened; and, like a good Christian, you arrange your
beaver, and walk off steadily to church. Now, remember, I give you full
credit for your wish to exhibit your external holiness--that you are
indeed conscious of the reverence that should accompany all your
engagements in the fane of the Deity; and yet I prognosticate that if
the Rev. Nabob Narcotic happen to preach this evening, you will, of a
surety, doze--infallibly doze--in the midst of his sermon!

'Tis a summer month, and the very church windows seem labouring with a
fit perspiration. Horribly boring--isn't it? How your hat clings to your
moistened forehead, and the warm gloves droop from your fingers, like
roasting chicken! Get as much room as possible; tenderly pass little
miss there, and her unbreeched brother, over to their smiling mamma. Now
you have the balmy corner to yourself! "Psalms," first lesson--second
ditto--prayers--thanksgivings--all reverently attended to; there is a
little dreaminess settling on your lids--your lips begin to close with
languor; but you have not dozed. Let's hear the sermon. You are seated
with tolerable erectness; and, judging from the steady determination of