My father instantly exchanged the attitude he was in, for that in which _Socrates_ is so finely painted by _Raffael_ in his school of _Athens_; which your connoisseurship knows is so exquisitely imagined, that even the particular manner of the reasoning of _Socrates_ is expressed by it--for he holds the forefinger of his left hand between the forefinger and the thumb of his right, and seems as if he was saying to the libertine he is reclaiming------ "_You grant me_ this----and this: and this, and this, I don't ask of you--they follow of themselves in course."
So stood my father, holding fast his forefinger betwixt his finger and his thumb, and reasoning with my uncle _Toby_ as he sat in his old fringed chair, valanced around with party-coloured worsted bobs ----O _Garrick!_--what a rich scene of this would thy exquisite powers make! and how gladly would I write such another to avail myself of thy immortality, and secure my own behind it.
My father instantly took up the attitude in which Socrates is so finely painted by Raphael; which your connoisseurship knows is so exquisitely imagined, that even the particular manner of the reasoning of Socrates is expressed by it - for he holds the forefinger of his left hand between the forefinger and the thumb of his right.
So stood my father, holding his forefinger betwixt his finger and his thumb, and reasoning with my uncle Toby in his old fringed chair with woollen bobs - O Garrick! what a rich scene wouldst thou make of this! and how gladly would I write such another to secure my immortality.