My becomings kill me, when they do not eye well to you.

And then as to this beautiful tree, with which Mr. Serjeant has ornamented his ſpot—No, gentlemen, no ſuch matter at all; I am inſtructed to ſay quite the reverſe; a ſtunted tree, a blighted, blaſted tree; a tree not only limbleſs, and leafleſs, but very near lifeleſs; that was the true ſtate of the tree: […]

Then disparate sense impressions come to disparate organs, as light to the eye, taste to the mouth, etc.

In breathless prose that risks making Dr Pachauri, who will be 70 this year, a laughing stock among the serious, high-minded scientists,