A ludicrous story was told of a party composed of different regiments, in an eating-house of Saltillo, after the battle. They were drinking, and relating their wonderful exploits. One in particular was eloquent upon the daring bravery of his captain. At this crisis, a fellow who had been unnoticed before in their merriment, advanced from his corner, and enthusiastically insisted that the captain spoken of was a brave man, for he saw him charge unarmed upon a presented pistol. The stranger was invited to drink, then urged to relate the circumstance, and, after smacking his lips with great satisfaction, he commenced. “During the fight I retreated to town, and hid in an old bake oven that stood on the hill, as you enter the city. Well, I hadn’t been there long, before I spied your captain making for it at full speed. I drew my revolver, and when he came, cried out to him, ‘Don’t you come here, or I’ll blow your brains out!’ _But he rushed right in._” An amusing incident came off the other day, at the mounting of the guard. A lieutenant, rather too fond of the “Critter,” with a seedy suit that had evidently not been worn out with brushing, was rejected, and charged by our worthy inspector-general not to present himself there again. So the next day _another_ was detailed, not much better attired. When the inspector perceived him, he rode up, and severely remarked, “Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?” He respectfully rejoined: “A slight mistake, colonel, there is one grease spot less on this hat!” “_Camp near Reynosa, June 4th._ “According to general orders, we broke up our encampment at Buena Vista on the 24th of May, and after a march of ten successive days, over three hundred miles, we arrived at this place. From this we will take steamboats to the mouth of the Rio Grande, thence by vessels to New Orleans, where we will be discharged, and permitted to return to the endearments of home. It rained during our last day’s march, and has continued to do so ever since, at intervals.