In her Washington Herald chatter column, "These Charming People," Martha Granger Blair Krock, recent bride of the New York Times's, Arthur Krock, declared: "I wish I was a cow. This conclusion has been reached after years of meditating on the thought while motoring all over New England. . . . One cow [in a friend's barn] recently became the proud mother of twins--no doctor bills--and a more entrancing pair I have never seen."

Near Diamond Head, two thousand feet above Pearl Harbor in the island of Oahu, Hawaii, the Duke of Windsor bought himself a macadamia (something like cashew) nut plantation, thereby became absentee proprietor of several hundred acres, 32,000 macadamia trees, no house. Reported price: $135,000. What interested Hawaiians as much as the purchaser was the salesman: Walter Francis Dillingham, Hawaii's leading socialite and polo player, chief stockholder of the company whose business is to crack the Windsor nuts and sell them. He met the Duke at Capri, persuaded him that nuts were a good investment. Said the Duke: "I hope to visit Hawaii next winter."

Meanwhile, on Windsor's Antibes estate, overlooking the Mediterranean, the French set up an antiaircraft battery manned by a squad of grinning Senegalese. Chances of a royal visit to Hawaii looked remote when the Duke's friends insisted that if war came he would take his Duchess back to England, get a job in Britain's Government.

The 13th anniversary of the death of Rudolph Valentino was celebrated at his crypt in the Hollywood Mausoleum with the customary routine: attendance during the day of some 500 curious mourners and representatives of the Los Angeles press, the laying of many a floral offering (most novel inscription: toujours fidele), the arrival of a Woman in Black who dropped roses on the grave, refused to be interviewed. Snorted the cemetery's caretaker: "The original quit wearing black three years ago."

To make room for the new Bishop of London in run-down old Fulham Palace, the retiring Bishop, the Rt. Rev. and Rt. Hon. Arthur Foley Winnington Ingram, wistfully called in an auctioneer, put on the block a vast collection of junk. Items: "a Parisian model of a tomb in Lichfield Cathedral, on an ebonized base, with inscription," a hip bath tub shaped like the mouth of a trumpet, an airplane propeller (presented "on the occasion of the Bishop's return from the Front" in 1918), 14 African spears, 46 hock glasses, seven bottles of tawny port, one bottle of sherry, a pair of alabaster models of owls.

Now 81, doughty old Bishop Winnington Ingram, who still plays tennis & squash and often preaches two sermons a day, has during the 38 years of his bishopric helped with the building of 91 churches, toured the world, witnessed three coronations (Edward VII, George V, George VI), preached before Queen Victoria. When he was asked to entertain London's maids-of-all-work during a commemoration of the Coronation of Queen Alexandra (Edward VII's spouse), he invited 10,000 of them to tea, gave each a box of chocolates, a brooch. Five years ago, when birth control was up before the House of Lords, he told the Lords what he thought of contraceptives. "I tell you," cried he, "I would like to make a bonfire of these things, and dance around it."

In an old file case in a Nashville, Tenn. building was found the insurance policy of Confederacy President Jefferson Davis. It stipulated that he could not travel west of the Rocky Mountains.

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