It's a little hard to believe after all those regal years, but there's still a lot of Kelly left in the old girl. Monte Carlo was celebrating its 100th anniversary by holding an American week, complete with a steak-and-corn cookout and a softball game. The officers of the visiting U.S. destroyer' DuPont were lined up against the "palace irregulars," including such stalwarts as U.S. Ambassador to Spain Angier Biddie Duke and U.S. Ambassador to France Chip Bohlen. And who should be in rightfield for the royals? None other than Monaco's Princess Grace, 36, prettily decked out in T shirt and sneakers. She even rapped out a couple of clean hits and showed a shapely gam as she tore around the bases. Who won? Who cared? "It was great fun," grinned Grace. "I haven't played baseball in 20 years."

State officials were looking for blueprints when workmen opened the cornerstone of Illinois' state capitol in Springfield. What they found instead was a pint of Irish whisky inscribed: "Made for Abraham Lincoln, September 20, 1860. It is pure and will grow better as it grows older." As he put it back to age some more, the state secretary said: "Too bad Abe isn't here to enjoy it."

Looking like a jungle tabby in orange shirt and spotted tie, Author Truman Capote stalked into Paris to autograph copies of the French translation of his bestseller De Sang Froid and unsheathed a couple of sharpies on some favorite subjects. "Serious writers aren't supposed to make money," he noted, "but I say the hell with that. My next book will be called A Christmas Memory. It's 45 pages long, and it's going to cost $5 and be worth every cent. How do you like that for openers?" Speaking of openers, there's going to be a Broadway version of his earlier bestseller Breakfast at Tiffany's. Capote turned down an offer to help with the libretto because "I don't like team sports," and now he fears the outcome, "They may make Holly marry a Bronx dentist," said he. "And of course that's my idea of doom."

The Great Grammarian and the Splendid Splinter, after years on opposite sides of the diamond, finally made the same scene. Inducted into baseball's Hall of Fame were Casey Stengel, 76, who, as manager of the New York Yankees, won more pennants (ten) than anyone in American League history, and Ted Williams, 47, late of the Boston Red Sox and last of the .400 hitters (.406 in 1941). The Ol' Perfessor, as always, was his delightful, non-sequitous self, while Ted, long known for spatting with reporters and spitting at fans, was just plain thankful. "I received 280 votes out of a maximum 302," he said, tipping his hat to the sportswriters who choose those honored. "I know I don't have 280 close friends among the writers. I know they voted for me because they felt I rated it, and I want to say thank you." He was welcome.

"I believe there was a King Arthur," announced Mortimer Wheeler. Well, so do a lot of other kids. Only this was Sir Mortimer Wheeler, the eminent British archaeologist, talking, and he went on to say that he thinks he's even found Arthur's Camelot. It's in South Cadbury, 100 miles southwest of London, where Sir Mortimer's diggers came up with a hoard of "Arthurian matter" on the site of an old castle. No armor or swords or pennants, mind you, but bits of pottery, some iron knives, and a pin dating back to the 6th century.

Other experts think the find is merely the home of a local chieftain of the time. At any rate, the humble abode can't hold a candle to the once and future palace of Malory's king.

Central Park simmered in the noonday heat as Conductor Leonard Bernstein stripped to his skivvy shirt and led the New York Philharmonic through an alfresco rehearsal. Next day Lennie bounded around the 15-acre field before the bandstand listening to the loudspeakers, at one point sent his eleven-year-old son scampering for an engineer when he found a dead spot. Lennie and the boys weren't the only ones willing to sweat for their music. The audience started arriving to stake out the best spots at 9 a.m. on the day of the concert, first in New York City's free park-concert series, and by dusk something like 90,000 people had spread blankets and set up camp chairs around the park's Sheep Meadow. It was possibly the biggest crowd ever to attend a symphony concert, and it listened enraptured as Beethoven's Eroica and Stravinsky's Le Sacre du Printemps filled the evening.

By the spring of 1963, John F. Kennedy was already speculating on his next election campaign, more than a year away. In this month's McCall's, his longtime buddy Paul Fay Jr. recalls a conversation with the late President about his Republican opponents: "The man I don't want to run against is George Romney," he told Fay. "That fellow could be tough. No drinking, no smoking. Imagine someone we know going off for 24 or 48 hours to fast and meditate, awaiting a message from the Lord on whether to run or not. Does that sound like one of the old gang? No, give me good old Barry."

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