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Updated: May 13, 2025
Hanbury Smith lived with her husband in Paris, but before her marriage had known Mrs. Carbuncle in London. Her father, Mr. Bunbury Jones, had, from certain causes, chosen to show certain civilities to Mrs. Carbuncle just at the period of his daughter's marriage, and Mrs. Carbuncle being perhaps at that moment well supplied with ready money, had presented a marriage present.
"He is asleep down below." Davy roared out, "I want to wake him up. I have come two hundred miles on purpose to do it. I want to get a settlement about those buoys at Port Albert. I am tired of writing about them." This woke up Bunbury, who sang out: "What's the matter, Ruffles? What's all that noise about?" "It's the pilot from Port Albert. He wants to see you, sir, about the buoys."
Such a towering personality in caricature as James Gillray comes necessarily into the first of these categories; such draughtsmen as Woodward or Sayer into the second. Woodward comes near to Bunbury in style and subject, and like him seems to have preferred social satire, though occasionally as in his "General Complaint," of 1796 he touches political topics of the time.
Geoffrin and Mme. d'Epinay; the beauty of Lady Pembroke is commented on, the charm of Lady Sarah Bunbury analysed, Lady Grenville eulogised.
I do not know the lady's name distinctly, but I am certain I have heard the beautiful Lady Sarah Bunbury mentioned by the Princesse de Lamballe as having received particular attention from the Queen; for the Princess had heard much about this lady and "a certain great personage" in England; but, on discovering her acquaintance with the Duc de Lauzun, Her Majesty withdrew from the intimacy, though not soon enough to prevent its having given food for scandal.
He was buried in the parish church of Walcot, in the city of Bath, in the same vault with his fourth daughter the wife of Rear-Admiral Sotheby, and her two infant children. To this there is an encomium added, which its prolixity hinders me from inserting. A painter and a poet were, perhaps, never more similar to each other in their talents than the contemporaries Bunbury and Anstey.
In the work of Henry William Bunbury we strike an entirely different note to that of the artist we have just studied. The contrast is, in its way, refreshing as well as instructive.
It was true. On July 31st, Sir Henry Bunbury, Secretary to the Admiralty, and Lord Keith, Admiral in command at Plymouth, laid before him in writing the decision of our Government, that, in order to prevent any further disturbance to the peace of Europe, it had been decided to restrain his liberty "to whatever extent may be necessary for securing that first and paramount object" and that St.
The first time I saw Lady Randolph was at Punchestown races, in 1887, where I went with my new friends, Mrs. Bunbury, Hatfield Harter and Peter Flower. I was standing at the double when I observed a woman next to me in a Black Watch tartan skirt, braided coat and astrachan hussar's cap.
The solemn concentration of mind displayed by many of these personages is worthy of the pencil of Bunbury; and though French caricaturists have done no more than justice to our guttling Bob Fudges, I question whether they would not find subjects of greater science and physical powers among their own countrymen.
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