Memorial to Grace Sutton - Stockton Parish Church
"Sacred to the memory of Grace Sutton, wife of George Sutton, of Stockton, Esq.
Who resigned a life passed in the exercise of every Christian virtue, on the 17th of January 1814, in the 57th year of her age. She was fervent in her devotion, unbounded in her benevolence, personally administering to the wants, and consoling the sufferings of the afflicted: thus zealously endeavouring to fulfil her duty to her God and to her neighbour. To perpetuate the memory of this estimable woman, her female friends in this place have united to erect this tablet, as a recording homage of esteem and veneration for private worth from public affection."
Grace Sutton d. 1814 (by Benjamin and Robert Shout - Pevsner)
From The Annals of Stockton by Henry Heavisides, 1865
"GEORGE WILLIAM SUTTON,
Born at Stockton in 1802, was the eldest son of John
Hutchinson, Esq., previonsly noticed in these pages. He
was educated at Oxford, and after having received a good
education, he took the tour of Europe, accompanied by his
tutor, Mr. Jackson, and his favourite groom, Mr. Henry
Smith. His grand-uncle, George Sutton, Esq., dying without
issue, Feb. 14th, 1817, at the advanced age of eighty- two,
bequeathed his estates to the subject of this brief memoir ;
and on Sutton's return to England, he married, on the 21st
of April, 1824, Olivia, second daughter of Henry Stapvlton,
Esq., of Norton, senior, male descendant of the anoient family
of •Stapylton of Slyton, and had issue two sons and three
daughters.
On his marriage, Sutton and his bride took up their
residence at Hardwick Hall, Sedgfield, and on obtaining
possession of bis estates in 1825, be removed to Elton Hall,
near Stockton. He bad a fine taste for poetry and general
literature. He was, moreover, a tolerable Latin scholar, and
while he resided at Elton he published, for private distribution,
a volume of poems, entitled "The Slop Basin," comprising
various effusions, which be designated his " Poetical Slops."
He was also an excellent letter writer. I enjoyed a long
epistolary correspondence with him, and have a large collec-
tion of his letters written on various subjects. The style of
his epistles was somewhat Byronic — it was pithy, racy, and to
the purpose. When dining with him once at Elton Hall, I
entirely forgot to deliver a letter with which I had been
entrusted by his worthy friend, Henry Faber, Esq., solicitor,
and on Sutton being informed by that gentleman of my
extreme carelessness, he sent me the following note, ap-
parently delighted at the circumstance: —
" Elton Hall, Wednesday Evening,
March 11, 1840.
Dear Heayisides, —
You are a poet and nothing else. A pretty fellow you are, at
fifty years of age, to let Poesy make you forget the letter entrusted to you
by friend Faber, who must have considered your head more trustworthy
than his own. When he related to me, on Monday last, your for-
getfulness, I told him jour soul was above briefs and every thing litigious-
What a piece of bardish carelessness it was on your part. Wordsworth is
not to be trusted with anything. Indeed all men of mind and genius are
oblivious at times. I am delighted with you ! You must be a true poet in
every sense. If you had remembered the letter, I would not have given a
curse for you. I would have thought no more of it than you did the
moment I breathed the air of the fields. The poet Scott, being a legal
chip, might perhaps have remembered " the crack of the whip ;" but
Byron, Moore, and Coleridge, would alike have left it to its fete. Burns
would have lighted his pipe with it, and Bloomfield used it for the vilest
purpose. Altogether I'm delighted. You have now proved yourself a true
son of Parnassus. I venture to say, my worthy friend will not make a
scrivener's errand boy of a poet again. I have laughed heartily at the
affair, by which you have done more for your poetical character than the
writing of a thousand ' Homes ' could have done for you.
Health and fraternity,
Yours very truly,
G. W. SUTTON."
By this awkward affair being treated in so jocular a manner,
I got well over it, though I considered such a piece of negli-
gence at my* age almost unpardonable.
I deem it necessary to say, that Mr. Sutton occasionally,
when excited, laboured under slight mental aberration; but
-when not afflicted with this sad infirmity, I always found him
a perfect gentleman in his manners. No one ever possessed a
more kind, a more feeling heart, than he had, or displayed a
more frank and generous disposition than he did. " They who
knew him best loved him the most."
In the spring of 1852, as Mr. Sutton was returning home in
a gig, accompanied by a groom, the horse attached to the
vehicle took fright, and ran away. The groom immediately
jumped out, but Mr. Sutton sat still ; and the result was, that
he received a severe injury on one of his knee caps, which
ended in his death. This took place on the 17th of April,
1853, after he had been about a year confined to his room, and
had received the best medical aid. He died at 50 years of
age, deeply regretted by every one who knew him. The fol-
lowing unpublished stanzas are from his pen : —
(in* Iter fottjr %\tt.
" One hour with thee 1 Entrancing thought!
Long wished, long hoped, and vainly sought !
My wild blood rushes warm to trace
The witchery of thy magic face.
My sorrows, griefs, and cares are o'er,
I'll clasp thee to my heart once more !
One hour with thee !
Thou fairest of Eve's loveliest blue-eyed daughters !
And have I passed again one hour with thee, *
Who now art gazing on the " dark blue " waters
Over the bosom of th' unruffled sea P
Thy love is worth the wide world's wealth to me,
Thy image glides before me in my dreams,
And when I heave a deep drawn sigh to thee,
Fond recollection o'er my fancy streams,
And gilds my wayward path with Hope's prophetic dreams.
Hope, did I say ? Yes, Hope shall cheer me still,
The haven of my hopes thy love shall be ;
rd anile on mit'iy — neither good nor ill
Should erer alienate my heart from thee !
Though we be parted by the billowy feea,
I'd fix mine aching eyes on one bright star,
Breathe fervent blessings on it, call it thee,
And echo still should answer from afar,
And tell to the load winds how dear to me yon are !"
Memorial to Grace Sutton - Stockton Parish Church
"Sacred to the memory of Grace Sutton, wife of George Sutton, of Stockton, Esq.
Who resigned a life passed in the exercise of every Christian virtue, on the 17th of January 1814, in the 57th year of her age. She was fervent in her devotion, unbounded in her benevolence, personally administering to the wants, and consoling the sufferings of the afflicted: thus zealously endeavouring to fulfil her duty to her God and to her neighbour. To perpetuate the memory of this estimable woman, her female friends in this place have united to erect this tablet, as a recording homage of esteem and veneration for private worth from public affection."
Grace Sutton d. 1814 (by Benjamin and Robert Shout - Pevsner)
From The Annals of Stockton by Henry Heavisides, 1865
"GEORGE WILLIAM SUTTON,
Born at Stockton in 1802, was the eldest son of John
Hutchinson, Esq., previonsly noticed in these pages. He
was educated at Oxford, and after having received a good
education, he took the tour of Europe, accompanied by his
tutor, Mr. Jackson, and his favourite groom, Mr. Henry
Smith. His grand-uncle, George Sutton, Esq., dying without
issue, Feb. 14th, 1817, at the advanced age of eighty- two,
bequeathed his estates to the subject of this brief memoir ;
and on Sutton's return to England, he married, on the 21st
of April, 1824, Olivia, second daughter of Henry Stapvlton,
Esq., of Norton, senior, male descendant of the anoient family
of •Stapylton of Slyton, and had issue two sons and three
daughters.
On his marriage, Sutton and his bride took up their
residence at Hardwick Hall, Sedgfield, and on obtaining
possession of bis estates in 1825, be removed to Elton Hall,
near Stockton. He bad a fine taste for poetry and general
literature. He was, moreover, a tolerable Latin scholar, and
while he resided at Elton he published, for private distribution,
a volume of poems, entitled "The Slop Basin," comprising
various effusions, which be designated his " Poetical Slops."
He was also an excellent letter writer. I enjoyed a long
epistolary correspondence with him, and have a large collec-
tion of his letters written on various subjects. The style of
his epistles was somewhat Byronic — it was pithy, racy, and to
the purpose. When dining with him once at Elton Hall, I
entirely forgot to deliver a letter with which I had been
entrusted by his worthy friend, Henry Faber, Esq., solicitor,
and on Sutton being informed by that gentleman of my
extreme carelessness, he sent me the following note, ap-
parently delighted at the circumstance: —
" Elton Hall, Wednesday Evening,
March 11, 1840.
Dear Heayisides, —
You are a poet and nothing else. A pretty fellow you are, at
fifty years of age, to let Poesy make you forget the letter entrusted to you
by friend Faber, who must have considered your head more trustworthy
than his own. When he related to me, on Monday last, your for-
getfulness, I told him jour soul was above briefs and every thing litigious-
What a piece of bardish carelessness it was on your part. Wordsworth is
not to be trusted with anything. Indeed all men of mind and genius are
oblivious at times. I am delighted with you ! You must be a true poet in
every sense. If you had remembered the letter, I would not have given a
curse for you. I would have thought no more of it than you did the
moment I breathed the air of the fields. The poet Scott, being a legal
chip, might perhaps have remembered " the crack of the whip ;" but
Byron, Moore, and Coleridge, would alike have left it to its fete. Burns
would have lighted his pipe with it, and Bloomfield used it for the vilest
purpose. Altogether I'm delighted. You have now proved yourself a true
son of Parnassus. I venture to say, my worthy friend will not make a
scrivener's errand boy of a poet again. I have laughed heartily at the
affair, by which you have done more for your poetical character than the
writing of a thousand ' Homes ' could have done for you.
Health and fraternity,
Yours very truly,
G. W. SUTTON."
By this awkward affair being treated in so jocular a manner,
I got well over it, though I considered such a piece of negli-
gence at my* age almost unpardonable.
I deem it necessary to say, that Mr. Sutton occasionally,
when excited, laboured under slight mental aberration; but
-when not afflicted with this sad infirmity, I always found him
a perfect gentleman in his manners. No one ever possessed a
more kind, a more feeling heart, than he had, or displayed a
more frank and generous disposition than he did. " They who
knew him best loved him the most."
In the spring of 1852, as Mr. Sutton was returning home in
a gig, accompanied by a groom, the horse attached to the
vehicle took fright, and ran away. The groom immediately
jumped out, but Mr. Sutton sat still ; and the result was, that
he received a severe injury on one of his knee caps, which
ended in his death. This took place on the 17th of April,
1853, after he had been about a year confined to his room, and
had received the best medical aid. He died at 50 years of
age, deeply regretted by every one who knew him. The fol-
lowing unpublished stanzas are from his pen : —
(in* Iter fottjr %\tt.
" One hour with thee 1 Entrancing thought!
Long wished, long hoped, and vainly sought !
My wild blood rushes warm to trace
The witchery of thy magic face.
My sorrows, griefs, and cares are o'er,
I'll clasp thee to my heart once more !
One hour with thee !
Thou fairest of Eve's loveliest blue-eyed daughters !
And have I passed again one hour with thee, *
Who now art gazing on the " dark blue " waters
Over the bosom of th' unruffled sea P
Thy love is worth the wide world's wealth to me,
Thy image glides before me in my dreams,
And when I heave a deep drawn sigh to thee,
Fond recollection o'er my fancy streams,
And gilds my wayward path with Hope's prophetic dreams.
Hope, did I say ? Yes, Hope shall cheer me still,
The haven of my hopes thy love shall be ;
rd anile on mit'iy — neither good nor ill
Should erer alienate my heart from thee !
Though we be parted by the billowy feea,
I'd fix mine aching eyes on one bright star,
Breathe fervent blessings on it, call it thee,
And echo still should answer from afar,
And tell to the load winds how dear to me yon are !"