Down the road rattled a coach carrying six young Frenchwomen to the California goldfields. Up on the ridge, a leathery old horseman rose in the stirrup, turned and boomed over his shoulder. "There's a stage coming in!" Very good, approved Director Joshua Logan. There were cheers from a watching cluster of stars, extras and technicians, for that eight seconds of flawless acting was turned in by none other than Oregon's Senator Wayne Morse. Seems Morse was seated next to a movie executive on a recent plane ride, who suggested the Senator would make the perfect saddle man for a bit in a new film, Paint Your Wagon. Morse was delighted, even suggested the extra little business of standing in the saddle instead of just sitting there to deliver his five-word line. "His voice was good and strong," says Logan, "but of course, he's had practice in that."

She last saw Husband Gunther Sachs, millionaire German playboy, in mid-June during a brief Italian holiday. Since then, Brigitte Bardot, 33, has been in St.-Tropez on the Riviera contenting herself with a little party going, a little yachting, and a lot of Luigi Rizzi, 24, handsome Italian nightclub owner with whom she was glimpsed soaking up the sun au naturel. Things livened up one night when a tourist insulted her and friends hurled a few bottles at the feckless foe. Otherwise, life has been quiet for BB and beau. Gunther, meanwhile, tore himself away from the North Sea's nudist beaches long enough to file for divorce, accusing Brigitte of "an abusive conception of marriage and premeditated abandonment of the household." To which Brigitte responded with a peal of laughter.

There are those who say that all John Updike did was take the soft-cover happenings in Ipswich, Mass., and put them between the hard covers of his latest novel, Couples. But the good folk of Ipswich either don't think so or couldn't care less. For there was John, in Pilgrim costume, at "17th Century Day," commemorating the founding of Ipswich in 1633. He read the introduction to a 30-minute pageant he wrote depicting the place as it was back when, noting that there the "Puritan flame burned brightest." Then he sat in with the Ipswich Recorder Society for a few rounds of Handel and Scarlatti. "This town has been kind to me, even indulgent," said Updike. "It's let me live as just another citizen."

Imagine a golf nut stationed in the Soviet Union, with nary a golf course in sight. That's how it was for U.S. Ambassador Llewellyn Thompson until friends in the United States Golf Association heard of his plight and rushed a portable driving net to Russia. It was promptly installed outside the residence, tensions eased, and Mr. Ambassador is happily walloping golf balls. Joseph C. Dey Jr., executive director of the association, sees it as "the beginning of a new and insidious invasion of Moscow." After all, the bug is catching.

Last spring, when a left-wing Paris daily said she hated life in the U.S. and longed to return to Russia, Svetlana Alliluyeva felt compelled to reply. Writing from Princeton, N.J., to a friend in Paris, Joseph Stalin's daughter stated she would "never return to Russia." In fact, "last summer, when Moscow began to sling mud at me, I threw my Soviet passport in the fire." Far from disliking the U.S., continued Svetlana, she finds increasing joy in the kindness of Americans and wishes the 16-year-old daughter she left in Russia could meet America's young people. Some day, she would like to see France, but "I am not drawn to countries where the influence of Communism is strong; having once been given an overdose of it, to this day I feel nauseated at the very mention of it."

How could they all squeeze into that small, three-bedroom villa? Yet there were Britain's Lord Harlech, three of his five children, plus a dozen or so friends, on holiday at El Mansoura, a fishing village on Tunisia's Cape Bon. At one point, there were 17 for dinner, and the kids mostly slept on air mattresses on the veranda. No matter. The nights were velvet, the days filled with swimming and trips to the village markets. Harlech spent much of his time reading and lounging around in a loose-fitting djibbah, blessedly free of reporters. When one turned up to ask the inevitable question about marrying friend Jackie Kennedy, the answer was an immediate no. "Both our lives are extremely complicated," he said.

When somebody goes to the bother of naming a cave after a gal, the only polite thing for her to do is sing a little tune in appreciation. Which explains what Pearl Bailey was doing 320 ft. underground in Missouri's Meramec Caverns belting out Hello, Dolly! Off Broadway, Pearlie Mae is an avid spelunker, and she gladly turned up for the dedication of the cavern's "Pearl Bailey Room." As for that cave, which once served as an Underground Railroad stop, it suits Pearl just fine. "That," she pronounced, "is something solid."

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