Old Cumbria Gazetteer - Thackwood Nook, Dalston


	Thackwood Nook, Dalston
	Thackwood Nook
locality:-	Thackwood
civil parish:-	Dalston (formerly Cumberland)
county:-	Cumbria
locality type:-	buildings
1Km square:-	NY3843 (?)
10Km square:-	NY34
SummaryText:-	Is this Nook House by Thackwood Farm?

evidence:-	old text:- Gents Mag placename:- Thuckwoodnook
source data:-	Magazine, The Gentleman's Magazine or Monthly Intelligencer or Historical Chronicle, published by Edward Cave under the pseudonym Sylvanus Urban, and by other publishers, London, monthly from 1731 to 1922. goto source Gentleman's Magazine 1820 part 1 p.228 "The late Miss Susan Blamire, of Thuckwood-nook, near Carlisle, from what I have seen of her compositions, appears to be a poetess of superior rank. I am not conscious that any of her works were ever published: neither am I certain, (not having the book at hand to refer to) whether any account of her life is given in Hutchinson's Cumberland. The following copy of verses, written by her when in a declining state of health, and which is the only one I have at present in my possession, may, perhaps, amuse some of your Readers." "'How sweet to the heart is the thought of To-morrow, When Hope's fairy pictures bright colours display; How sweet, when we can from futurity borrow A balm for the grief that afflicts us today! When wearisome sickness has taught me to languish For health and the comforts it bears on its wing, Let me hope, oh! how soon would it lessen my anguish, That To-morrow will ease and serenity bring."

evidence:-	old text:- Gents Mag 1820
source data:-	goto source Gentleman's Magazine 1820 part 1 p.229 "When travelling alone, quite forlorn, unbefriended, Sweet the hope that To-morrow my wandering should cease; Then at home, when with care sympathetic attended, I should rest unmolested, and slumber in peace. When six days of labour each other succeeding, When hurry and toil have my spirits opprest; What pleasure to think, as the last is receding, To-morrow will be a sweet Sabbath of rest. And when the vain shadows of time are retiring, When life is fast fleeting, and death is in sight, The Christian believing, exulting, expiring, Beholds a To-morrow of endless delight. The infidel, then, sees no joyous To-morrow, Yet he knows that his moments are hasting away; Poor wretch! can he feel without heart-rending sorrow, That his joys and his life will expire with To-morrow." "Yours, &c." "OMICRON."

evidence:-	old text:- Gents Mag
source data:-	Magazine, The Gentleman's Magazine or Monthly Intelligencer or Historical Chronicle, published by Edward Cave under the pseudonym Sylvanus Urban, and by other publishers, London, monthly from 1731 to 1922. goto source Gentleman's Magazine 1823 part 2 p.486 "Kellington, Dec. 12." "Mr. URBAN," "THAT human life is short, fleeting, and uncertain, every circumstance around us sufficiently evinces. How apt we in general are to neglect this admonition, and how prone we all are to flatter ourselves that it possibly may be our lot to extend life to its most protracted limits, every day's experience confirms." "..." "I subjoin another copy of verses from the plaintive Muse of Miss Blamire, and to the legitimacy of which, it is presumed, there can be no objection whatever." "Written on a gloomy Day in Sickness at Thuckwood, in June 1786." "'The gloomy lowering of the sky, The milky softness of the air, The hum of many a busy fly, Are things the cheerful well can spare. But to the pensive, thoughtful mind, Those kindred glooms are truly dear, When in dark shades such wood-notes wind, As woo and win Reflection's ear. The birds that warble over head, The bees that visit every flower,"

evidence:-	old text:- Gents Mag 1823
source data:-	goto source Gentleman's Magazine 1823 part 2 p.487 "The stream that murmurs on its bed, All aid the melancholy hour. Added to this, - the wasting frame, Thro' which life's pulses slowly beat, Would fain persuade that naught's the same As when health glow'd with genial heat. Where are the spirits light as air, That self-amus'd would carrol loud, Would find out pleasure everywhere, And all her paths with garlands strew'd? Nature's the same,- the Spring returns, The leaf again adorns the tree,- How tasteless this to her who mourns, Or she who droops and fades like me! No emblem for myself I find, Save what some dying plant bestows, Save when its drooping head I bind, And mark how strong the likeness grows. No more sweet Eve, with drops distill'd, Shall melt o'er thee in tender grief, Nor bid Aurora's cup be fill'd With balmy dew from yonder leaf. What tho' some seasons more had roll'd Their golden suns beneath thine eye? Yet, as the flower of mortal mould, 'Twas still thy lot to bloom and die.'" "Yours, &c." "OMICRON."

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