Source : Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary (1913)

Saga \Sa"ga\ (s[=a]"g[.a]), n.; pl. {Sagas} (-g[.a]z). [Icel.,
   akin to E. saw a saying. See {Say}, and cf. {Saw}.]
   A Scandinavian legend, or heroic or mythic tradition, among
   the Norsemen and kindred people; a northern European popular
   historical or religious tale of olden time.

         And then the blue-eyed Norseman told A saga of the days
         of old.                                  --Longfellow.

Sagum \Sa"gum\, n.; pl. {Saga}. [L. sagum, sagus; cf. Gr. ?. Cf.
   {Say} a kind of serge.] (Rom. Antiq.)
   The military cloak of the Roman soldiers.

Source : WordNet®

saga
     n : a narrative telling the adventures of a hero or a family;
         originally (12th to 14th centuries) a story of the
         families that settled Iceland and their descendants but
         now any prose narrative that resembles such an account

Source : Free On-Line Dictionary of Computing

saga
     
         (WPI) A {cuspy} but bogus raving story about N
        {random} broken people.
     
        Here is a classic example of the saga form, as told by {Guy
        Steele} (GLS):
     
        Jon L. White (login name JONL) and I (GLS) were office mates
        at {MIT} for many years.  One April, we both flew from Boston
        to California for a week on research business, to consult
        face-to-face with some people at {Stanford}, particularly our
        mutual friend {Richard Gabriel} (RPG).
     
        RPG picked us up at the San Francisco airport and drove us
        back to {Palo Alto} (going {logical} south on route 101,
        parallel to {El Camino Bignum}).  Palo Alto is adjacent to
        Stanford University and about 40 miles south of San Francisco.
        We ate at The Good Earth, a "health food" restaurant, very
        popular, the sort whose milkshakes all contain honey and
        protein powder.  JONL ordered such a shake - the waitress
        claimed the flavour of the day was "lalaberry".  I still have
        no idea what that might be, but it became a running joke.  It
        was the colour of raspberry, and JONL said it tasted rather
        bitter.  I ate a better tostada there than I have ever had in
        a Mexican restaurant.
     
        After this we went to the local Uncle Gaylord's Old Fashioned
        Ice Cream Parlor.  They make ice cream fresh daily, in a
        variety of intriguing flavours.  It's a chain, and they have a
        slogan: "If you don't live near an Uncle Gaylord's - MOVE!"
        Also, Uncle Gaylord (a real person) wages a constant battle to
        force big-name ice cream makers to print their ingredients on
        the package (like air and plastic and other non-natural
        garbage).  JONL and I had first discovered Uncle Gaylord's the
        previous August, when we had flown to a computer-science
        conference in {Berkeley}, California, the first time either of
        us had been on the West Coast.  When not in the conference
        sessions, we had spent our time wandering the length of
        Telegraph Avenue, which (like Harvard Square in Cambridge) was
        lined with picturesque street vendors and interesting little
        shops.  On that street we discovered Uncle Gaylord's Berkeley
        store.  The ice cream there was very good.  During that August
        visit JONL went absolutely bananas (so to speak) over one
        particular flavour, ginger honey.
     
        Therefore, after eating at The Good Earth - indeed, after
        every lunch and dinner and before bed during our April visit
        --- a trip to Uncle Gaylord's (the one in Palo Alto) was
        mandatory.  We had arrived on a Wednesday, and by Thursday
        evening we had been there at least four times.  Each time,
        JONL would get ginger honey ice cream, and proclaim to all
        bystanders that "Ginger was the spice that drove the Europeans
        mad!  That's why they sought a route to the East!  They used
        it to preserve their otherwise off-taste meat."  After the
        third or fourth repetition RPG and I were getting a little
        tired of this spiel, and began to paraphrase him: "Wow!
        Ginger!  The spice that makes rotten meat taste good!"  "Say!
        Why don't we find some dog that's been run over and sat in the
        sun for a week and put some *ginger* on it for dinner?!"
        "Right!  With a lalaberry shake!"  And so on.  This failed to
        faze JONL; he took it in good humour, as long as we kept
        returning to Uncle Gaylord's.  He loves ginger honey ice
        cream.
     
        Now RPG and his then-wife KBT (Kathy Tracy) were putting us up
        (putting up with us?) in their home for our visit, so to thank
        them JONL and I took them out to a nice French restaurant of
        their choosing.  I unadventurously chose the filet mignon, and
        KBT had je ne sais quoi du jour, but RPG and JONL had lapin
        (rabbit).  (Waitress: "Oui, we have fresh rabbit, fresh
        today."  RPG: "Well, JONL, I guess we won't need any
        *ginger*!")
     
        We finished the meal late, about 11 P.M., which is 2 A.M
        Boston time, so JONL and I were rather droopy.  But it wasn't
        yet midnight.  Off to Uncle Gaylord's!
     
        Now the French restaurant was in Redwood City, north of Palo
        Alto.  In leaving Redwood City, we somehow got onto route 101
        going north instead of south.  JONL and I wouldn't have known
        the difference had RPG not mentioned it.  We still knew very
        little of the local geography.  I did figure out, however,
        that we were headed in the direction of Berkeley, and
        half-jokingly suggested that we continue north and go to Uncle
        Gaylord's in Berkeley.
     
        RPG said "Fine!" and we drove on for a while and talked.  I
        was drowsy, and JONL actually dropped off to sleep for 5
        minutes.  When he awoke, RPG said, "Gee, JONL, you must have
        slept all the way over the bridge!", referring to the one
        spanning San Francisco Bay.  Just then we came to a sign that
        said "University Avenue".  I mumbled something about working
        our way over to Telegraph Avenue; RPG said "Right!" and
        maneuvered some more.  Eventually we pulled up in front of an
        Uncle Gaylord's.
     
        Now, I hadn't really been paying attention because I was so
        sleepy, and I didn't really understand what was happening
        until RPG let me in on it a few moments later, but I was just
        alert enough to notice that we had somehow come to the Palo
        Alto Uncle Gaylord's after all.
     
        JONL noticed the resemblance to the Palo Alto store, but
        hadn't caught on.  (The place is lit with red and yellow
        lights at night, and looks much different from the way it does
        in daylight.)  He said, "This isn't the Uncle Gaylord's I went
        to in Berkeley!  It looked like a barn!  But this place looks
        *just like* the one back in Palo Alto!"
     
        RPG deadpanned, "Well, this is the one *I* always come to when
        I'm in Berkeley.  They've got two in San Francisco, too.
        Remember, they're a chain."
     
        JONL accepted this bit of wisdom.  And he was not totally
        ignorant - he knew perfectly well that University Avenue was
        in Berkeley, not far from Telegraph Avenue.  What he didn't
        know was that there is a completely different University
        Avenue in Palo Alto.
     
        JONL went up to the counter and asked for ginger honey.  The
        guy at the counter asked whether JONL would like to taste it
        first, evidently their standard procedure with that flavour,
        as not too many people like it.
     
        JONL said, "I'm sure I like it.  Just give me a cone."  The
        guy behind the counter insisted that JONL try just a taste
        first.  "Some people think it tastes like soap."  JONL
        insisted, "Look, I *love* ginger.  I eat Chinese food.  I eat
        raw ginger roots.  I already went through this hassle with the
        guy back in Palo Alto.  I *know* I like that flavour!"
     
        At the words "back in Palo Alto" the guy behind the counter
        got a very strange look on his face, but said nothing.  KBT
        caught his eye and winked.  Through my stupor I still hadn't
        quite grasped what was going on, and thought RPG was rolling
        on the floor laughing and clutching his stomach just because
        JONL had launched into his spiel ("makes rotten meat a dish
        for princes") for the forty-third time.  At this point, RPG
        clued me in fully.
     
        RPG, KBT, and I retreated to a table, trying to stifle our
        chuckles.  JONL remained at the counter, talking about ice
        cream with the guy b.t.c., comparing Uncle Gaylord's to other
        ice cream shops and generally having a good old time.
     
        At length the g.b.t.c. said, "How's the ginger honey?"  JONL
        said, "Fine!  I wonder what exactly is in it?"  Now Uncle
        Gaylord publishes all his recipes and even teaches classes on
        how to make his ice cream at home.  So the g.b.t.c. got out
        the recipe, and he and JONL pored over it for a while.  But
        the g.b.t.c. could contain his curiosity no longer, and asked
        again, "You really like that stuff, huh?"  JONL said, "Yeah,
        I've been eating it constantly back in Palo Alto for the past
        two days.  In fact, I think this batch is about as good as the
        cones I got back in Palo Alto!"
     
        G.b.t.c. looked him straight in the eye and said, "You're *in*
        Palo Alto!"
     
        JONL turned slowly around, and saw the three of us collapse in
        a fit of giggles.  He clapped a hand to his forehead and
        exclaimed, "I've been hacked!"
     
        [My spies on the West Coast inform me that there is a close
        relative of the raspberry found out there called an
        "ollalieberry" - ESR]
     
        [Ironic footnote: it appears that the {meme} about ginger vs.
        rotting meat may be an urban legend.  It's not borne out by an
        examination of mediaeval recipes or period purchase records
        for spices, and appears full-blown in the works of Samuel
        Pegge, a gourmand and notorious flake case who originated
        numerous food myths. - ESR]
     
        [{Jargon File}]
     
        (1994-12-08)