On her 6,000-mile "Farewell Tour" of the U.S., Lady Bird Johnson strolled through the cathedral-like majesty of the redwood country of northern California. Pausing at the base of a 657-year-old giant, she placed a plaque designating the 27,000-acre Redwood National Park, a project that has pitted the Government and conservationists against private lumber concerns that have been felling great swatches of the dwindling redwood stands. "This is the crowning moment of a crusade that has lasted two generations," she said. "It would be a tragedy if tomorrow's tourists find a repetition of yesterday's mistakes: neon strips and honky-tonks."

In Germany, a country that has found little glory in World War II, one name still carries a hero's laurels: Erwin Rommel, brilliant Desert Fox of North Africa, admired by the Allies, despised by Hitler, who gave him a choice of suicide or execution for his role in the abortive 1944 plot against der Fu"hrer (Rommel chose suicide). In West Germany today, streets and military barracks are named for Rommel. Now comes another honor: West Germany's biggest warship, a 4,500-ton guided-missile destroyer will be christened the Erwin Rommel.

One of Vice President Hubert Humphrey's favorite forms of relaxation is taking to the fields for a brisk go at game-bird hunting. Last week, for a day, he was able to indulge in his hunting hobby on a private preserve, and by noon he and his party had knocked down 75 birds for the bag. When asked by a reporter about his future plans, Humphrey smiled cryptically and said he expected to have "something to announce by Christmas. A semipublic position." That mystery introduced, the Veep potted a few more pheasant, then winged off to his Minnesota home for the holiday.

It was one of those moments that every performer dreads. Pianist Vladimir Horowitz was halfway through Rachmaninoff's Sonata in B-Flat at Manhattan's Carnegie Hall. And then--poing!--the sound of string #17 (bass A-note) giving way on the Steinway concert grand. An embarrassed unease settled over the hall while a technician frantically made repairs. Finally, Horowitz completed the piece and responded to the thunderous ovation with four encores. Said the famed firm's president, Henry Z. Steinway: "Each time this happens I want to crawl into the woodwork." Soothed Horowitz: "It's like a flat tire--it can happen any time." The odds: once in every 5,000 performances.

When Hong Kong's leftist Chinese spattered the British colony with posters proclaiming "Long Live Chairman Mao," it was hardly surprising. But there were other signs shrieking "Go Home Gregory Peck," and that seemed curious. What upset the left wing was The Chairman, a film in which Peck plays a U.S. scientist who enters Red China to help a Chinese colleague escape from Mao's clutches. The Chinese press railed at the moviemakers for "insulting the cultural revolution and provoking 700 million Chinese people." In Hong Kong, the anti-Peck campaign, complete with bomb threats and promises of demonstrations, finally reached a point where the government canceled the filming, which sent everyone off to Taiwan to shoot remaining scenes.

Tourists roaming the hilltop house read with interest the titles of the books the owner kept in his bathroom, view the bullfight posters that dot the walls, pose for pictures beside his typewriter. Then they line up to sign the guest book, usually in Russian, Polish, Bulgarian, even Vietnamese. The house, a museum maintained by Cuba's National Council of Culture, was Ernest Hemingway's retreat just outside Havana. Of the nearly 18,000 yearly visitors who tramp through, over 70% are Russian. "The Russians have a great respect for Papa," said the caretaker, former Hemingway Servant Rene Villareal. "They can discuss all his books except one." Since it gives an unfavorable picture of the Communists in the Spanish Civil War, "the Russians are not acquainted with For Whom the Bell Tolls."

If he's not down in the south of France eating bouillabaisse with local fishermen, up north touring the farm lands, or in Paris hosting a diplomatic do or two, chances are U.S. Ambassador to France Sargent Shriver is out on a tennis court. Last week it was a Franco-American match in the gardens of the French Senate, as Shriver, playing alternately with U.S. Amateurs Chuck Pasarell and Arthur Ashe, went into action against a pair of French aces. After four games, the score was 2-2, then a smashing Shriver forehand put away the fifth game of the foreshortened set for the Americans. Wasn't it a bit undiplomatic for the Yanks to win? "Undiplomatic?" volleyed the Ambassador. "Gee, we gave them first service."

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