How Thought You That This Thing Could Captivate? What Are Those Graces That Could Make Her Dear, Who Is Not Worth The Notice Of A Sneer, To Rouse The Vapid Devil Of Her Hate? A Speech Conventional, So Void Of Weight, That After It Has Buzzed About One'S Ear, 'Twere Rich Refreshment For A Week To Hear The Dentist Babble Or The Barber Prate; A Hand Displayed With Many A Little Art; An Eye That Glances On Her Neighbor'S Dress; A Foot Too Often Shown For My Regard; An Angel'S Form -- A Waiting-Woman'S Heart; A Perfect-Featured Face, Expressionless, Insipid, As The Queen Upon A Card.