Those who have organised the new club at Olympia have left no stone unturned to provide for the increasing demand for all kinds of games during the winter months. There is something very novel in seeing football played under cover upon the huge grass carpet, provided, we understand, at a cost of some five thousand pounds, and covering the entire floor of the building. There are four or five squash racquet courts, twice as many billiard tables, a rifle range, and sufficient space for several games at croquet. But the attraction which will probably draw many visitors to Olympia is the game of Pelota, the national game of Spain, now played for the first time in England by six pelotari, drawn from the professional champions from the Basque country. The game is played on a cement court eighty yards long, by fifty broad, with a front wall, but no side or back walls, though in Spain we believe that some of the best courts have back walls. It is of the same nature as racquets, only the ball—a rubber-cored ball of the size between a base-ball and a fives-ball—is slung by the players against the front wall after being caught in a sickle-shaped basket-work scoop, resembling more than anything else the semi-circular mud-guards held over the wheels of carriages to prevent the soiling of ladies’ dresses. This scoop or _chirista_ is about two feet long, and the dexterity with which the players catch the ball in it, whether it comes straight to them or they have to take it back-handed or on the half volley, is little short of marvellous; the pace of the ball from the back-handed swing is simply terrific, and when it is remembered that the line above which the ball must strike the front wall is of much the same height as that in an ordinary racquet court, it can easily be realised that the server and the front players, who are constantly under fire from the slingers at the back, require a skill which can only be acquired by life-long habit not merely to take their part in the game, but to avoid being seriously injured.
The fortnightly masquerades at the Royal Opera House are more popular than ever with light-hearted Londoners. Now that the autumn season of opera is over, the whole of the large house is available for the accommodation of the merry throng of dancers who flock to Covent Garden on alternate Fridays, and the additional space afforded by the stage and its surrounding area is beautified by scenery from the near East. The competition for the prizes for the best and most original dresses is apparently more keen than ever, and the march past of competitors is certainly one of the sights of London.