The picturesque Muff of 1830 to 1850, is assuredly the big Muff of the Parisian or provincial tradeswomen, those Muffs, larders and lumber-rooms, which we meet in the deobstruent tales of Paul de Kock, and see figuring in the primitive tilted spring-carts driven by the master, in which are packed the mistress and all the assistant clerks, with a view to exploring some suburban corner on Sunday, there to laugh with their muffs pressed before their mouths, and to act a thousand follies of a doubtful taste, and to banquet plentifully, and to sing during the dessert some free-and-easy ditty, very jovial, after the fashion of those pleasant couplets of Laujon on /The Muff/, which I will quote here, with the more confidence, since they figure in the /Chansons de Parades/ collected by that boon companion, who was at the same time member of the Caveau and of the Institute:-- See what it is to be too good! One morning, leaving the warm fold Of home, Simon I saw, who stood And shivered in the nipping cold; He cried, "Come here, you little pearl, I feel so very cold, my girl!" Now warm yourself! Simon, good sir, ensconce yourself! I'll lend you, sir, my bran-new Muff! My dear! I'll lend you, sir, my bran-new Muff! "I feel so very cold, my girl!" Ay me! I had my new Muff on. My head was surely in a whirl To lend it to the good Simon. That day my kindness cost me dear; My Muff is spoilt for all the year! Now warm yourself! I'll lend you, sir, my bran-new Muff! My dear! My Muff is spoilt for all the year, For Simon's ways are rather rough; And he knows nought of doubt or fear, He quite destroyed my poor new Muff! Simon, you've ruffled all its fur, Made it too large, you careless sir! Now warm yourself! I'll lend you, sir, my bran-new Muff! My dear! Made it too large, you careless sir! See: it has been entirely spoiled, 'Tis metamorphosed, I aver; And seems all rumpled up and soiled. 'Tis like my aunt's Muff, all agape, Quite out of countenance and shape! Now warm yourself! Simon, good sir, ensconce yourself! I'll lend you, sir, my bran-new Muff! My dear! I'll lend you, sir, my bran-new Muff! What laughter, what shouts, what chokings, in those parties /à la/ Paul de Kock, when an artless maiden--at the time when pleasant digestion had set its bloom on all faces--sang, one by one, these ancient couplets, with an air at once of a whimpering girl and of a woman full of coquettish intelligence.