"Names make news." Last week these names made this news:

In a tumble-down little house overlooking a backyard dump in Pittsburgh, newshawks found a tattered sexagenarian living on relief funds, identified him as William Andrew Mellon, first cousin of one-time Secretary of the Treasury Andrew William Mellon. Said Cousin William: 'T need this place because I can read, study, think and dream. . . . Andy has been sending me money monthly."

At the American Club in Paris long-maned Artist Thomas Gilbert White assailed "Dr. Thugwell" and other New Dealers for calling his classical mural in the Department of Agriculture Building "Ladies in Cheesecloth" (TIME, April 2).

Louis McHenry Howe, President Roosevelt's No. 1 secretary, invited the selectmen of the rambling town of Westport, Mass., to his summer cottage at Horseneck Beach. There Vacationist Howe told them that the President might select Westport for an experiment in repopulating abandoned New England farms with destitute farmers from other parts of the country. The selectmen were interested but not excited. "The idea has its faults and its advantages," observed the chairman tersely.

To close a concert in Rosario, Argentina, Violinist Mischa Elman played as an encore his own composition "Tango." Wildly the audience demanded to hear it again. Elman declined to repeat, played instead a dozen different encores. Exhausted, he bowed his way off the stage. Up over the footlights and into Elrnan's dressing room swarmed the insistent audience. Seizing the violinist, they dragged him back on the stage, pleaded until he repeated "Tango."

Diego Rivera puffed up a mountain at Taxco, Mexico, slipped on the steep path, fractured his right hand. As soon as he can hold a paint brush again, Artist Rivera announced, he will reproduce on the walls of Mexico City's $30,000,000 Palace of Fine Arts the murals which John Davison Rockefeller Jr. had torn from Rockefeller Center (TIME, Feb. 26).

Canada's rich, pious and paunchy Premier Richard Bedford Bennett sped to Quebec as the trig little liner Duchess of Richmond steamed in from Liverpool. Aboard was the Prime Minister of Great Britain, James Ramsay MacDonald, and his Housekeeper-Daughter Ishbel, on a three-month Canadian vacation. Whisked off by Premier Bennett, silver-haired, 67-year-old Scot MacDonald was soon sailing across the Bay of Fundy, driving up to a tiny cottage in Digby for the rest which eye-strain has imposed on him. As Ishbel sent out for more vases to hold the flowers which Digby's New Scotlanders brought to the door, a telephone bell tinkled with a call from Halifax.

"I'd like to talk to Mr. Ramsay Mac-Donald," gasped a nervous Nova Scotia newspaper woman. "Mr. MacDonald is rather busy and tired," was the reply in a frosty, secretarial voice from the cottage. "Well, I don't mind confessing I'd be scared to death to talk to him anyway," gushed the newspaper woman. She heard a deep, Scottish chuckle and the voice again, no longer glacial: "Well, you needn't be scared! You've been talking to him for the last two minutes."

Out of the African jungle to Cairo, on a bed, in an airplane, flew Mrs. Martin Johnson, ill after 20 months spent filming big game.

Declaring that she needed "a pair of garters," plump, eccentric Dame Fanny Lucy Houston, richest of British women, wrote in her Saturday Review: "The deaths of the Duke of Wellington and the Duke of Marlborough have created an unexpected problem for filling two vacancies that have arisen in the Order of the Garter. As one would be of no use to me, I modestly suggest that I be given both."

Two years ago, when the Bank of England's mystery-loving, fox-bearded Governor Montagu Collet Norman traveled to the U. S., it was under the name of "Professor Clarence Skinner." Last week, before sailing for the U. S., Banker Norman inserted a social note in the London Times to announce his departure on the Enropa.

Motoring back to Vienna from a suburban cafe early one morning, Alfonso, exiled King of Spain, blundered headlong into a collision between another automobile and a street car. Out of the other car, into the path of Alfonso's Ford, pitched Dr. Karl Smetna. a pro-Nazi Viennese editor. The wheels of the royal Ford passed over Dr. Smetna, who later died. Alfonso was cleared of blame for the accident. Next day, in the same car, Alfonso's chauffeur ran down a deaf man, killed him.

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