The West Brompton and Earl's Court Eden, which has come to be regarded as London's Crystal Palace, draws large holiday attendances by reason of the diversity and grandeur of its attractions. For the lovers of music there was the string band of the Garde Républicaine from Paris, playing alternately with Lieutenant Dan Godfrey's Band of the Grenadier Guards (whose performance of a "Lohengrin" selection was the softest and best I have heard for many a long day), and also the capital band of the Exhibition itself. At night the people promenading in the gaily illuminated gardens listening to the stimulating music must have deemed it a veritable Fairyland. These open-air concerts supply a distinct public want in summer; and it is to be hoped that the series of exhibitions started here by Colonel North's syndicate, aided by Mr. J. R. Whitley (and just commemorated in a handsome volume published by Sampson Low and Co.), will be continued for the delight of Londoners. Flowers and music alone are in themselves an unfailing source of pleasure. But the addition of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show to the Horticultural Exhibition makes it the most potent magnet in the realm. Handsome Buffalo Bill himself, with his dignified mien and splendid seat on horseback, lassoes Indians and shoots bison with all his old skill; and Mr. Nate Salisbury and stalwart Major Burke direct the varied hippodramatic performances with such practised ease that, if the panorama of the attack on the Deadwood Coach (in which Mrs. Langtry figured as a passenger on Whit Monday), the procession of Indians with their encampment and war-dance, the laughter-moving manoeuvres of the cow-boys and their buck-jumpers, the buffalo hunt, and wonderful shooting of Annie Oakley, strike one as an always interesting entertainment, Major Burke points with pride to an attractive novelty. This is sketched by a P.I.P. Artist, who represents the fiery dash of these wonderfully skilful Cossacks, headed by their Prince Commandant. Exceptionally picturesque do the Cossacks look as they first appear in the arena in their long brown tunics and rough hats, singing on horseback. They are veritable centaurs. Seemingly part and parcel of the horses they ride with consummate ease, these Cossacks can pick up scarves from the ground as they dash by with whirlwind speed; they can stand on the saddle while their steeds go a full gallop; their wild handkerchief game on horseback is a sight to see; and, withal, they can dance as featly in their high top-boots as Johnny D'Auban could foot it. In fine, the Cossacks of Prince Makharadze bring before you the gallant style the extraordinary feats of horsemanshp a Czar never fails to treat illustrious visitors to.