LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE

_OCTOBER, 1885_.

ON A TEXAS SHEEP-RANCH.

I.

There are words which have careers as well as men, or, perhaps it may be
more happily said, as well as women. Mere words breathed on by Fancy,
and sent forth not so much to serve man's ordinary colloquial uses,
apparently, as to fascinate his mind, have their _débuts_. their season,
their vogue, and finally a period in which it is really too bad if they
have not the consolation of reflecting upon their conquests; for
conquests they certainly have. The great captivators--the Cleopatras of
the vocabulary--one easily recognizes; but besides these there is a host
of small flirts and every-day coquettes, whom one hardly suspects till
they have a little carried him away. Almost every one remembers how in
this light company he first came across the little word _ranch_. It had
in its youth distinctly the _cachet_ of the verbal flying squadron, the
"nameless something," the oenanthic whiff which flies to the head. There
are signs that its best days as a word are now over, and in
contemplating it at present one has a vision of a _passée_ brunette, in
the costume of Fifine at the Fair, solacing herself with thoughts of
early triumphs. "Would a farm have served?" she murmurs. "Would a
plantation, an orange-grove, have satisfied the desperate young man? No,
no; he must have his ranch! There was no charm could soothe his
melancholy, and wring for him the public bosom, save mine."

I made this reflection during a period of incarceration in a