Springtime, and lunch at a restaurant in the Bois de Boulogne--who could resist the combination? Certainly not Maria Meneghini Callas, 40, or maybe it was Metropolitan Opera Manager Rudolf Bing, 62, who proved only human after all. At any rate, the two kissed and made up in Paris in June, and La Divina will return to the Met for Tosca next year, her first New York appearance since Bing fired her for breaking an engagement in 1958.

It was a fine day for the races, though most folks his age might prefer that old rocking chair, and so Sunny Jim Fitzsimmons, who retired as a trainer last year, bustled off to New Jersey's Monmouth Park to hear the crowd roar "Happy Birthday" and share his 90th cake with 20 great-grandchildren. "It's a lucky thing I had the horse bug," confided the man who trained Gallant Fox and Omaha, Nashua and Bold Ruler, recalling the days when his mother-in-law wanted him to work as a streetcar conductor. "I was sending home more money from the tracks than I could have made on the trolley, but there's not another damn thing I could have done."

Sweetness and light were her stock in trade as Walt Disney's Pollyanna, but now that she's turned 18, Britain's Hayley Mills has become sweet lightning. Rising like the seasoned trouper she is from a 103DEG sickbed to prance in the chorus line at a London benefit, the "glad" girl shook a dazzling pair of legs and uncorked some un-Disneyfied bumps and grinds. In a separate bit, she vanished into a box as a magician's assistant, but demonstrated conclusively that she is one child star who won't need to pull a disappearing act when she gets to be 21.

To paraphrase the grammar school boff, what are they going to eat in the House of Lords? They won't be able to eat the Sandwiches there any more, because the tenth earl and great-great-great-great-grandnephew of the 18th century titleholder who invented layered lunch has renounced his lordship, like other Tory leaders. He will seek election to the House of Commons as just plain Alexander Victor Edward Paulet Montagu, 58.

They say that the recipe for a Hungarian omelet begins, "First, you steal a dozen eggs," and when Marlene Dietrich came on to sing at the Cannes Palm Beach Casino, the world's most professional Hungarian was sitting at a ringside table with her photographer. The world's sexiest sexagenarian had on a skintight, flesh-colored gown so diaphanous that her contract forbade pictures during the performance, but as Zsa Zsa Gabor told it, "My cameraman was so overcome by Marlene's beauty that he asked if I thought she would mind being photographed. I told him to carry on." After the show, when it developed that Marlene did mind, Zsa Zsa was forced to yield the film. "All right, we'll give it to you," ran her stormy response. "What do you think he could do with it? He couldn't sell it for a pengoe." Nem?

Clark Kent could have slipped into Peru peaceably enough, but as Superman he'd have had to make like a bird. The Education Ministry banned him and 14 other comics because "their illogical and immoral actions contribute to unsettle children's imagination." Fortunately, Lima beansprouts love him almost as much as does Metropolis. Protests mushroomed, and the prestigious El Correo thundered, "Is this the first step toward censorship of the press?" It was, for sure. And two days later the ministry backstepped faster than a herd of crooks downed by a supersock.

Three devoted fans would be thinking of her at curtain time, read the telegram, and it was signed "Mother, Daddy and Lynda." But they needn't have worried. For each of her two drawling but nonchalant narrations of Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf at Michigan's Interlochen Music Camp, Luci Baines Johnson, 17, drew three curtain calls when she performed with Pianist Van Cliburn, 30, who conducted the camp's 150-member student orchestra. Whatever criticism Luci Baines is going to get (and under the circumstances, it will scarcely be fanged), will come when her version of the Russian fairy tale is beamed back whence it came, via the Voice of America.

The Old Indian was one of history's great athletes, excelling at football, pentathlon, decathlon, golf, bowling, hockey, lacrosse, swimming, rifle, squash, handball and horsemanship. So when he died in 1953, the Pennsylvania coal town of Mauch Chunk (pop. 5.945), not far from Carlisle, where he went to college, welcomed his corpse with a $10,500 mausoleum, and renamed itself Jim Thorpe, Pa., in his honor. The town fathers figured he would be a great tourist draw. But disillusionment has set in, and John H. Otto, chairman of the County Water and Sewer Authority, is now leading a campaign to change the town's name back again: "You mention you're from Jim Thorpe, and nobody knows what you're talking about."

Ill lay: Britain's Prince Charles, 15, at an Aberdeen nursing home with a mild case of pneumonia caught while camping out with fellow Gordonstouners on the grounds of the family's Balmoral Castle; California Governor Pat Brown, 59, at his Sacramento mansion with a fibula fractured by stepping in a hole at a golf course, an accident that will keep him on crutches for six weeks ("But he wouldn't miss the Democratic Convention," said an aide, "if he had to crawl"); Oldtime Cine-comedian Stan Laurel, 74, at Los Angeles' Valley Doctors Hospital, where he has been receiving hundreds of letters from his ever-faithful fans while undergoing treatment for chronic diabetes.

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