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Updated: June 21, 2025
Bunyan being precluded by his imprisonment from carrying on his brazier's craft for the support of his wife and family, and his active spirit craving occupation, he got himself taught how to make "long tagged laces," "many hundred gross" of which, we are told by one who first formed his acquaintance in prison, he made during his captivity, for "his own and his family's necessities."
At last however, we heard him once more on the stairs. He came down, on tip-toe, holding up two keys. He was smiling gleefully. "They were in Eb's desk and all tagged and numbered." In a moment or two we were all out in the corridor. Our new friend locked all the cell doors, and hung up his key on its hook. "It shall be an unsolved mystery to them all.
The slack sail shifts from side to side, The boat, untrimm'd, admits the tide, Borne down, adrift, at random tost, The oar breaks short, the rudder's lost. Gay's Fables. I have tagged with rhyme and blank verse the subdivisions of this important narrative, in order to seduce your continued attention by powers of composition of stronger attraction than my own.
He bayed at the moon as dogs do, And vented his gruff bow-wows, As he tagged my heels in the good old times When we went after the cows. He'd roll in the grass with the babies, Or carry them on his back; He'd catch the ball the youngsters tossed, And follow the rabbit's track.
The literature of the masses of the people was pretty equally composed of the legends of the Saints and the older Ossianic legend, so much misunderstood and distorted by modern criticism. The legends of the former class were chiefly wonders wrought by the favourite Saints of the district or the island, embellished with many quaint fancies and tagged out with remnants of old Pagan superstition. St.
Each time we picked up an item for the exhibition we tagged and numbered it so we would know the correct house to return the pot to later. We had to be careful at some houses otherwise we might have ended with torn pants ripped up by the huge Dobermans people owned.
"Here's a stick." They took hold of it in turn. Tom's hand came out on top. "I'm tagger. Look out!" he cried. They played the game. At last he caught Leila, and crying out, "You're tagged," seized her boy-cap and threw it up on to the steep slope of the stable roof. "Oh! that's not fair," cried the girl. "You are a rude boy. Now you've got to get it." "No, indeed. Get the stable-man to get it."
I got a job wagon and the boat hands to take him out and tie the fellow to the hind axle of the wagon and then go by his side to the other boat. We fastened him securely to a stanchion and tagged to his destination. This relieved me of any further responsibility. I saw him about three years later in Vacaville. He was a fine large fellow with all the fire in his eye that he had in his younger days.
"Not yet, but he says he understands we've got one here that ain't been tagged that's what he said 'tagged. What does he mean by that?" "Why why, don't you see? Just as soon as he tags it, it's it. Doggone, I wonder if it would make any legal difference if I tagged it first." "He's a queer-lookin' feller, Anderson. Says he's in disguise, and he certainly looks like a regular scamp."
The next morning we were up with the dawn and started by eight to run down Mountain Billy, the grey wolf who lived on the ranchmen of the Bad Lands. Our outfit was as symmetrical as a pine cone; dogs, horses, mess wagon, food, guns and men. All we needed was the grey wolf. I was the only woman in the party, and, like "Weary Waddles," tagged behind.
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