your eyebrows, one would imagine that your eyes would be open for the
whole of the discourse. But, alas! 'tis Mr. Narcotic, whose spectacled
nose is just verging above the crimson horizon of his pulpit.--"Awake,
thou that sleepest!" Why, the text is quite opposed to DOZINESS! But
what of this, if the preacher be addicted to drawling, the weather
unobligingly sultry, and you yourself have gradually been dwindling from
an uncongenial state of wakefulness into a sleepy calm? 'Tis too much
for beldame Nature, believe me!

I perceive that you have rubbed the bridge of your nose several
times--that you have tried to swell forth your eyes with a full round
stare at the parson; but your stoicism "profiteth nothing." The sermon
is irreligiously long; and you are nodding--in a doze! Whether there be
much pleasure in a church doze, I am not presuming enough to determine.
For myself, I have found nothing more tantalizing than the endeavour to
restrain from an occasioned doze during church time. After a certain
period, I have perceived the parson diminishing, like a phantasmagoric
image--all the ladies' black bonnets sinking away, like a cluster of
clouds--and (shame on the confession!) I have performed head worship to
the front of my seat, instead of keeping an immovable post-like
position, before his reverence. However, a church doze is seldom admired
by the wakeful. Should an embryo snore escape from one's nose (and this
is possible,) some old grandam, or an upright piece of masculine
sanctity, is sure to rouse you; the former will either _hem_ you into
awakening shame, or drop her prayer-book on the floor; the latter will
most likely thump the same with the imperative tip of his boot. How
horridly stupid one seems after being aroused! The woman eyes you with
the most piquant, self-justifying sneer possible; while all her little
IMMACULATES, if she have any, look at you like so many hissing young
turkey cocks; and as for the man--bless his holiness!--he'd frown you