The imprisoned ringlets are emancipated; 'fresh as the oread from the forest fountain,' you descend—you breathe the incense of the chocolate—not more I hope—and grow conversational and confidential over the green tea, which, with a fragrance beyond all the violets of April, rises to your lip, 'giving and taking odours.'
1831, L[etitia] E[lizabeth] L[andon], chapter XI, in Romance and Reality. […], volume I, London: Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley, […], page 92