President Nixon could hardly have chosen a more engaging personal emissary to the investiture of the Prince of Wales. Tricia Nixon was clearly, as London's admiring Daily Sketch put it, "America's little princess." The papers wrote columns on her blonde, Dresden-doll beauty and easy grace as she moved through a schedule that might have daunted a seasoned diplomat: tea with the wife of Prime Minister Harold Wilson, a spate of cocktail parties, and a trip to Wimbledon for the tennis quarterfinals--not to mention the investiture. Even her father's erstwhile opponent Hubert Humphrey was smitten. Humphrey greeted Tricia at a cocktail party with a hug and a kiss and said: "She is a little doll." Meanwhile, back home, the President's other daughter, Julie Nixon Eisenhower, was star of her own show. Five days a week, the newest tour guide in the White House now leads groups of 25 tourists through parts of the Executive Mansion ordinarily closed to the public: the Lincoln Bedroom, where, as she tells her charges, Lincoln never slept; the diplomatic reception room where Franklin D. Roosevelt gave his fireside chats by "the only fireplace in the White House that doesn't work," even the secret staircase that she had once used to escape a party. "I just walked out. It was late anyhow." When reporters came to cover one of her supertours last week, Julie offered comment on her approaching 21st birthday. "The biggest thing about it," said she, "is being able to vote."

Huntington Hartford's initial education in publishing lasted four years, cost $7,000,000 and was called Show magazine (it folded in 1965). Last week Hunt announced he is coming back for more, as associate publisher of a new (come October) trade weekly, Entertainment World, and as editor in chief of a new (come January) monthly devoted to motion pictures. Its hauntingly familiar title: Show magazine. At the press conference called to announce the new ventures, Hartford's luck ran true to form: the invitations were delayed and only one reporter showed up.

According to Alain de Gaulle, nephew of France's retired President, le grand Charles did not stand so tall at home. In fact, writes Alain in an article sold to British, French and American publications, he could be defined as "henpecked." Alain relates that Tante Yvonne cured her husband's fondness for Scotch whisky by adding coffee to his glass, kept the household account book and slipped a hair between the pages so she would know if the President tried to peek. She thriftily bought the presidential shirts, socks and underwear at the Bon Marche, a sort of Parisian Macy's, and once was heard to remark: "You're running France. I'm running the house." Be that as it may, veteran Elysee watchers recall that Charles had his innings on at least one occasion. At a recent state banquet, De Gaulle heard Yvonne venture an opinion on a political subject and snapped: "What do you know about these things?" --after which her banquet conversation was limited to small talk.

Soviet cosmonauts have visited the U.S. three times since 1962, but no American astronaut had ever set foot in the Soviet Union until last week when Apollo 8's Colonel Frank Borman flew off with his wife and two sons for a nine-day tour. It was all unofficial --Moscow's invitation came via the Soviet-American Relations Institute--but there were broad hints that Borman would be allowed to see something of the Soviet space complex at Baikonur so far visited by only one Westerner, France's Charles de Gaulle in 1966. In any event, the trip got off to a happy start when Borman tried to say a few words in Russian for the three cosmonauts who greeted him at Moscow airport. "Ya ochen rad . . . [I am very happy ...]," he began, and then forgot the rest as everyone broke up with laughter.

The bidding at Christie's auction house in London started at $250,000 and went up by $50,000 leaps. Finally, the auctioneer called "Sold!" For $1,159,200, Los Angeles Industrialist and Art Collector Norton Simon had acquired a self-portrait made when Rembrandt Harmensz van Rijn was in his early 30s. Steep though it was, the price was a record for neither Rembrandt nor Norton Simon. The collector has already spent $2,200,000 for a portrait of the artist's son and an un disclosed sum for one of Rembrandt's common-law wife. Said he: "Now I have almost all the family."

In the 36 years since she was declared insane for murdering two women friends, Winnie Ruth Judd, "the Blonde Tigress," has escaped seven times from Arizona State Hospital. The last time was Oct. 8, 1962--and no one caught up with her until last month, when an alert California policeman checked the fingerprints of a housekeeper known as Marian Lane. Now Winnie, 64, has engaged Lawyer Melvin Belli, the flamboyant defender of Jack Ruby, to prove that she is a rehabilitated woman. He has only one reservation about taking the case: "When she called me, she wanted me to take care of her two poodles. But I told her I'm the king of torts, not a veterinarian."

In the fast-moving world of Washington, the case of Abe Fortas has ceased to be prime dinner-party conversation. But in Fortas' old law firm of Arnold & Porter, the debate over the embattled ex-Supreme Court Justice continued for weeks and posed an agonizing dilemma: Should the firm welcome him back? The decision lay with the 34 partners, and at first many seemed inclined to forgive Fortas' questionable relationship with convicted Stock Manipulator Louis Wolfson. Then a number of partners began to harden their view. In the end, only Founding Partners Paul Porter and Thurman Arnold argued strongly for their old colleague (Fortas' wife Carolyn, also a partner, abstained). By an overwhelming majority, the partners have now reached "an understanding": Fortas will not be taken back.

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