To the further north there lay, in sunshine, a little warm bay of blue sea, and a Ligurian fishing-city, pink and yellow and white and green, was set curving round it-Santa Caterina, of deep stone-paved streets, where odours dwelt of roasting coffee, and drying fish, and cheese, and drains, and tar, and the breath of the brown seaweed, and of the nets that had drawn in shoals of bianchetti at daybreak, and lay through the day drying on the hot sands.
"The Furnace"
Rose Macaulay
You could not have persuaded that grizzled old tar that there was any course but the one he started on, no matter what the difficulties of his course were, but give him a new one, and he will take it without the least question.
"The Hilltop Boys on Lost Island"
Cyril Burleigh
"Br'er Rabbit" and the "tar Baby" seemed just in the shadows beyond the flames and if you listened hard you could hear the hiss of the water as an Indian canoe slipped down the lake in pursuit of Brule or La Salle.
"Ethel Morton at Chautauqua"
Mabell S. C. Smith