Blanch half a pound of sweet almonds, and two ounces of bitter almonds, and pound them in a mortar, then make them into a paste with rose water; this paste is a fine emollient.

The gods have not (as you know) made me poetical, nor do I often tax your patience with a simile, but I think this French sensibility is to genuine feeling, what their paste is to the diamondit gratifies the vanity of the wearer, and deceives the eye of the superficial observer, but is of little use or value, and when tried by the fire of adversity quickly disappears.

The pasting was not a work of art, but it was effective.