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 Copyright, 1886, by 
 
 FRANK S. THAYER, 
 
 Denver, Colo. 
 
HELEN HUNT JACKSON. 
 
 ( H. H.) 
 
 Thn Grave m Pino Hill Forest, Cheyennr. Mountain. 
 
Cheyenne Mountain, near Colorado Springs, Colo. 
 (_•'■ place of burial.) 
 
 The late RoEidencc ot Helen Hunt Jackson, 
 Colorado Springs, Colo. 
 
5176 Craue of "\i. \i." 
 
 ^OLD in outline and grandly massive, Cheyenne 
 Mountain is one of striking interest to tourists, 
 S whether seen from the balconies of the Ant- 
 •^f- lers Hotel in Colorado Springs, or from Man- 
 itou, ten miles distant. It is cleft by two yawn- 
 ing chasms, forming the North and South Chey- 
 enne Canons, into the deepest hollows of whose 
 perpendicular jagged walls only the noonday sun 
 can shine. South Cheyenne ends in a "round well 
 of granite, down one side of which leaps, slides, 
 foams and rushes a series of waterfalls," the lovely 
 "Seven Falls" of Cheyenne Mountain. 
 
Facing this magnificent outguard of Old Pike's 
 Peak, at Colorado Springs, was the home of Helen 
 Hunt Jackson. Its grandeur was her daily pleasure, 
 to penetrate its vast ruggedness a choice delight, 
 and back to it, by her own request, she was brought 
 for burial. The following from the pen of Mr. 
 Crawford, graphically describes'^her grave : 
 
 "in Pine Hill Forest, on the northern slope of 
 Cheyenne Mountain looking to the east, where the 
 first soft rays of sunlight linger lovingly and at last 
 flood with light and warmth, on the last day of soft 
 October, was laid away for her final rest Helen Hunt 
 Jackson. One can imagine as she lay upon that 
 couch of pain from which she never arose, that her 
 heart must have turned longingly to this restful, 
 favored spot. Shelteringly the higher parts of the 
 mountain circle around, rising beyond the canon 
 into fantastic craigs, jutting red pinnacles and shad- 
 owy ascending ravines with an edging of silver fir. 
 
giving the mountain sides a look of hoary old age. 
 Down over the dizzy point of rocks from the blue 
 distance of Cheyenne Canon, rises a musical mur- 
 mur and rush of water to mingle with the low sigh- 
 ing of the pines. From her grave one may look 
 down through the parted trees upon her embowered 
 earthly home among the gracefully sweeping hills, 
 with the stretch of yellow plain beyond, rising to 
 the horizon. At the foot of the slope wells out a 
 spring of pure, limped water into a basin that was 
 covered with golden autumn leaves, then over the 
 edge of it and with a headlong rush, down the gorge 
 to seek Cheyenne Creek. 
 
 "Down the slope and through the pines come 
 the last slanting rays of the western sun and linger 
 longest upon the resting-place of this gifted child 
 of nature. The ground is covered with a soft carpet 
 of pine needles and the trailing killickinnick. One 
 might almost imagine the wild flowers she loved so 
 well in life crowding closer to her grave^ and by 
 
their bright procession giving expression to the 
 immortality of a beautiful life. 
 
 " 'And has she not high honor, 
 The hillside for her pall, 
 To lie in state, with stars for tapers tall I 
 
 And the dark rock pines like tossing plumes 
 Over her grave to wave?' " 
 
 "Gently, reverently, we plucked from the newly 
 made grave of one whom we knew only in the 
 thoughts she breathed upon the prmted page, a 
 spray of the killickinnick with which it was covered 
 and thought of her own lines that seemed as if 
 inspired by this chosen spot : 
 
 " 'Dear hearts whose love has been so sweet to know. 
 That I am looking backward as I go, 
 Am lingering while I haste, and in this rain 
 Of tears of joy am mingling tears of pain : 
 Do not adorn, with costly shrub, or tree, 
 Or flower, the little grave which shelters me. 
 Let the wild wind-sown seeds grow up unharmed. 
 And back and forth all summer, unalarmed. 
 Let all the tiny, busy creatures creep; 
 Let the sweet grass its last year's tangles keep : 
 And when remembering me you come some day 
 And stand there, speak no praise, but only say, 
 ' How she loved us ! It was for that she was so dear ! ' 
 These are the only words that I shall smile to hear.' " — 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 b"015 973 398 1 •