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Eugene Field - Our Lady of the Mine
Work rating: Low

The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv,
And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv;
`T wuz in the year uv sixty-nine,—somewhere along in summer,—
There hove in sight one afternoon a new and curious comer;
His name wuz Silas Pettibone,—a` artist by perfession,—
With a kit of tools and a big mustache and a pipe in his possession.
He told us, by our leave, he `d kind uv like to make some sketches
Uv the snowy peaks, `nd the foamin` crick, `nd the distant mountain
         stretches;
"You`re welkim, sir," sez we, although this scenery dodge seemed to us
A waste uv time where scenery wuz already sooper-floo-us.

All through the summer Pettibone kep` busy at his sketchin`,—
At daybreak off for Eagle Pass, and home at nightfall, fetchin`
That everlastin` book uv his with spider-lines all through it;
Three-Fingered Hoover used to say there warn`t no meanin` to it.
"Gol durn a man," sez he to him, "whose shif`less hand is sot at
A-drawin` hills that`s full uv quartz that`s pinin` to be got at!"
"Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin` gratifies ye;
But one uv these fine times I`ll show ye sumthin` will surprise ye!"
The which remark led us to think—although he didn`t say it—
That Pettibone wuz owin` us a gredge `nd meant to pay it.

One evenin` as we sat around the Restauraw de Casey,
A-singin` songs `nd tellin` yarns the which wuz sumwhat racy,
In come that feller Pettibone, `nd sez, "With your permission,
I`d like to put a picture I have made on exhibition."
He sot the picture on the bar `nd drew aside its curtain,
Sayin`, "I reckon you`ll allow as how that`s art, f`r certain!"
And then we looked, with jaws agape, but nary word wuz spoken,
And f`r a likely spell the charm uv silence wuz unbroken—
Till presently, as in a dream, remarked Three-Fingered Hoover:
"Onless I am mistaken, this is Pettibone`s shef doover!"

It wuz a face—a human face—a woman`s, fair `nd tender—
Sot gracefully upon a neck white as a swan`s, and slender;
The hair wuz kind uv sunny, `nd the eyes wuz sort uv dreamy,
The mouth wuz half a-smilin`, `nd the cheeks wuz soft `nd creamy;
It seemed like she wuz lookin` off into the west out yonder,
And seemed like, while she looked, we saw her eyes grow softer, fonder,—
Like, lookin` off into the west, where mountain mists wuz fallin`,
She saw the face she longed to see and heerd his voice a-callin`;
"Hooray!" we cried,—"a woman in the camp uv Blue Horizon!
Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, `nd nominate your pizen!"

A curious situation,—one deservin` uv your pity,—
No human, livin`, female thing this side of Denver City!
But jest a lot uv husky men that lived on sand `nd bitters,—
Do you wonder that that woman`s face consoled the lonesome critters?
And not a one but what it served in some way to remind him
Of a mother or a sister or a sweetheart left behind him;
And some looked back on happier days, and saw the old-time faces
And heerd the dear familiar sounds in old familiar places,—
A gracious touch of home. "Look here," sez Hoover, "ever`body
Quit thinkin` `nd perceed at oncet to name his favorite toddy!"

It wuzn`t long afore the news had spread the country over,
And miners come a-flockin` in like honey-bees to clover;
It kind uv did `em good, they said, to feast their hungry eyes on
That picture uv Our Lady in the camp uv Blue Horizon.
But one mean cuss from Nigger Crick passed criticisms on `er,—
Leastwise we overheerd him call her Pettibone`s madonner,
The which we did not take to be respectful to a lady,
So we hung him in a quiet spot that wuz cool `nd dry `nd shady;
Which same might not have been good law, but it wuz the right manoeuvre
To give the critics due respect for Pettibone`s shef doover.

Gone is the camp,—yes, years ago the Blue Horizon busted,
And every mother`s son uv us got up one day `nd dusted,
While Pettibone perceeded East with wealth in his possession,
And went to Yurrup, as I heerd, to study his perfession;
So, like as not, you`ll find him now a-paintin` heads `nd faces
At Venus, Billy Florence, and the like I-talyun places.
But no sech face he`ll paint again as at old Blue Horizon,
For I`ll allow no sweeter face no human soul sot eyes on;
And when the critics talk so grand uv Paris `nd the Loover,
I say, "Oh, but you orter seen the Pettibone shef doover!"
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