paper, in telling how it got its news from the Halls of the Montezumas, paid this tribute to its faithful pony express in its issue of October 4, 1847: "Our pony team as if in anticipation of the great excitement prevailing in the City on Saturday evening (October 2nd), came flying up to the stopping-post with the most thrilling and important intelligence yet received from the seat of the war, full twenty-four hours ahead of steamboats, railroads, and even telegraphs. The news brought by them twenty-four hours in advance of the mail being of such exciting and thrilling interest, we put to press at a late hour on Saturday night an 'Extra Sun,' with full details, which were sought after by our citizens during yesterday morning."
These editions of The Sun came to be known, not only in Baltimore, but also elsewhere, as The Southern Daily Pony Express—and justly so.
MODERN WAR CORRESPONDENTS ARRIVE
The Mexican War not only put the news in newspapers, but it developed war correspondents who put the heart-throb into their stories. A typical illustration from The Louisville Courier must suffice for lack of space:—
While I was stationed with our left wing in one of the forts, on the evening of the 21st, I saw a Mexican woman busily engaged in carrying bread and water to the wounded men of both armies. I saw this ministering angel raise the head of a wounded man, give him water and food, and then carefully bind up his wound with a handkerchief which she took from her own head. After having exhausted her supplies, she went back to her own house to get more bread and water for others. As she was returning on her mission of mercy, to comfort other wounded persons, I heard the report of a gun, and saw the poor innocent creature fall dead! I think it was an accidental shot that struck her. I would not be willing to believe otherwise. It made me sick at heart, and, turning from the scene, I involuntarily raised my eyes toward heaven, and thought, great God! and is this war? Passing the spot next day, I saw her body still lying there with the bread by her side, and the broken gourd, with a few drops of water still in it emblems of her errand. We buried her, and while we were digging her grave cannon balls flew around us like hail.
From 1846, when this account appeared, newspapers became more human, not only in their subject-matter, but also in their
