"There, now, he's Chuffy," said Dick, half to himself.
"Menhardoc"
George Manville Fenn
Nothing suits me but the fluffy, Chuffy things with a tilt to them.
"Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903"
Lucy Maud Montgomery
His hat slouched down, and great coat buttoned close Bellied like hooped keg, and Chuffy face Red as the morning sun, he takes his round And talks of stock: and when his jobs are done And Dobbin's hay is eaten from the rack, He drinks success to corn in language hoarse, And claps old Dobbin's hide, and potters back.
"Poems Chiefly From Manuscript"
John Clare