The Wild West show at the Earl's Court Exhibition is again flourishing exceedingly, and I don't wonder at it. I love it. I get quite childishly excited over the attack on the Deadwood coach, and the marvellous riding of the Indians makes me sick with envy. I used to think I could ride once, but that was before the advent of Buffalo Bill and his merry men. The shooting of the picturesque Colonel Cody and the intrepid Miss Oakley is as magnificent as ever and everything goes "with a bang"—literally enough, for there is plenty of gunpowder about the performance, and everyone receives a sort of harmless "baptism of fire."