“The Book Agent.” Essex North Register (Newburyport, Massachusetts), 29 April 1836, 4. “The Advertiser.” Daily Commercial Advertiser (Bangor, Maine), 25 March 1836, 2. I don’t know about you, but tracing all the detours and permutations of this entry took the tuck out of me. I thought Matthew was a gonner, and the fright takes the tuck out o’ my old knees.”
“Too narrow, I declare,” said Uncle Walter. “A narrow squeak fo you, Fabens,” said Wilson “a very narrow squeak.” Then they renewed the attack and, as old Spanker caught her by the leg, and she turned upon the dog in fury, Colwell put a ball through her head, and the fearful chase was over.
Then came dogs and men, and were repulsed with shrieks and ejaculations. Over a rock he leaped, round a tree he ran, and the bear bounded after. Away bounded Fabens, and closely on his heels bounded the grim and open-mouthed bear. Terror was up in a moment, and leaped from heart to heart. From Day Kellogg Lee’s 1852 book Summerfield or Life on a Farm, in a chapter about a bear hunt: The related phrase to take the tuck out of dates in print to a few decades later, although it was undoubtedly circulating orally prior to that. “I thank you a thousand times,” said the stranger, “I reckoned to have got to the tavern by sundown, but I hav’nt, and as I’m prodigiously tuckered out, I’ll stay, and thank ye into the bargain,” following the clergyman into the house. The voice is that of one described as a “yankee backwoodsman”: The story was reprinted in many newspapers over the next few years. The travelling between this and Belfast is bad enough in all conscience-even the “old Eddington mare,” which some folks insist is the best horse in the whole Penobsoct region, would get “tuckered out” in half the distance.Īnd this passage is from a story that appears in print in Newburyport, Massachusetts’s Essex North Register of 29 April 1836. On 25 March 1836, the following appeared in Bangor, Maine’s Daily Commercial Advertiser: As to his wearing ship, he’ll show no sich navigation, I guess, till he gets into blue water, and this tack’ll be bolt downward, like a loose anchor.” There’s no sich thing as tuckering out your raal white shark: he’s all bone and sinners. “Wearies!” echoed the excited harpooner “why, the critter’d tow us clear round the world ag’in wind and tide, ten knot an hour.
#CANT TUCK TUCKER MOVIE#
The following passage is from an article about a shark hunt, which is eerily reminiscent of the movie Jaws, that appeared in the January 1836 issue of The Knickerbocker: We see this form appear in New England in the 1830s. If to tuck in is to take in nourishment, then to tucker out is to deplete one’s energy or courage. Īnd from this we also get the Australian and New Zealand term tucker, meaning food. Stomach appetite as, “He has a pretty good Tuck of his own,” means that a man is a great eater. A cloth worn by children to keep their clothes clean a pinafore. William Holloway’s 1838 General Dictionary of Provincialisms records this sense from the south of England: Hence, we get to tuck in, meaning to eat. The Tucke carrieth a like fashion, saue that it is narrower meashed, and (therefore scarce lawfull) with a long bunt in the midst.Īnd this fishing use engendered a sense of tuck meaning a stomach, or by extension, an appetite. The Sayne is a net, of about fortie fathome in length, with which they encompasse a part of the Sea, and drawe the same on land by two ropes, fastned at his ends, together with such fish, as lighteth within his precinct. From Richard Carew’s 1602 Survey of Cornwall: With satchel and tipped staff, robe tucked high,īy around 1600, tuck was also being used as the name for a type of fishing net, one in which the netting was folded to create a bunt or pocket into which the fish were gathered. He went on his way no longer would he stay. (When folk in church had given him what they wished, With scrippe and tipped staf, ytukked hye,Īnd beggeth mele and chese, or elles corn. He wente his wey no lenger wolde he reste. Whan folk in chirche had yeve him what hem leste, Here’s the word from Geoffrey Chaucer’s late fourteenth-century Summoner’s Tale, describing the title character: One tucks in one’s shirt or tucks a child into bed, for example. But in Middle English tuck had acquired the sense of to fold up, to tie up, a sense we’re familiar with today. But this sense faded away during the early Middle English period, and its extended sense of to rebuke faded by the end of the seventeenth century. The verb to tuck traces back to the Old English tucian, meaning to treat poorly, to afflict. A related Americanism, recorded a bit later is to take the tuck out of, meaning to sap one’s strength or courage. It’s an Americanism that dates to early nineteenth-century New England. To tucker out is to weary, to grow tired, become exhausted.
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