The following matrimonial dialogue was accidentally overheard one day last week on the piazza of the United States Hotel at Saratoga. _Wife._--"My dear, I can not, for the life of me, recollect where I have put my pink bonnet." _Husband._--"Very likely. You have so many bonnets and so little head!" * * * * * Mr. Andrew Jackson Allen, who was one of the prominent witnesses in the recent Forrest Divorce case, is evidently an original. While passing up the Bowery the other day, our editorial eye was attracted by a curious sign on the east side of the street, and we crossed over for the purpose of more conveniently reading it. It was as follows: ALLEN INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL COSTUMER. FOOD FOR THE HUNGRY, DRINK FOR THE DRY, REST FOR THE WEARY, AND TOGGERY FOR THE NAKED, WHERE YOU CAN BLOOM OUT IF YOU PLEASE. And under this was a smaller sign upon which was inscribed the following piece of Macawber-like advice: CHERISH HOPE AND TRUST TO FORTUNE. We take the liberty of expressing our desire that Mr. Allen may be as fortunate (if he has not already been so) in having something "turn up" in the end, as was the illustrious Wilkins of "hopeful" and "trustful" memory. * * * * * Two of our lady friends were reading, the other day, Byron's "Prisoner of Chillon." We intended to say that the one lady was _pretending_ to read it aloud to the other lady. No woman ever has been, now is, or ever will be, capable of listening without interrupting. So that at the very commencement when the _reader_ read the passage, "Nor grew it white In a single night As man's have grown from sudden fears--" the _readee_ interposed as follows: "_White?_ How odd, to be sure. Well, I know nothing about men's hair; but there is our friend, Mrs. G----, of Twelfth-street, the lady who has been just twenty-nine years old for the last fifteen years; her husband died, you know, last winter, at which misfortune her grief was so intense that her hair turned completely _black_ within twenty-four hours after the occurrence of that sad event." This bit of verbal annotation satisfied us, and we withdrew. * * * * * Epitaphs are notoriously hyperbolical. It is refreshing occasionally to meet with one which is terse, business-like, and to the point. Such an one any antiquarian may find, who has the patience to hunt it out, upon the tombstone of a juvenile pilgrim father (in embryo) somewhere in the New Haven graveyard. For fear that it _may_ not be found in the first search, we give it from memory. "Since I so very soon was done for, I wonder what I was begun for." Literary Notices.