With the Civil War came the first plentiful use of headlines in the _Evening Post_, usually placed on page three, where the telegraphic news was used. In those days verbs in headlines were conspicuous chiefly by their absence; but the writer knew his business. When the bombardment of Sumter began he summarized the whole significance of the event in his first two words: “CIVIL WAR--BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER--A DAY’S FIGHTING.” After Bull Run he tried to save the feelings of New Yorkers by tactful phrasing: “RETROGRADE MOVEMENT OF OUR ARMY!--GEN. McDOWELL FALLING BACK ON WASHINGTON--OUR LOSS 2,500 to 3,000.” And the two most important headlines of the whole war were admirable in their simple fitness. It would be impossible to improve upon the first three words used on April 15, “AN APPALLING CALAMITY--ASSASSINATION OF THE PRESIDENT--MR. LINCOLN SHOT IN FORD’S THEATRE IN WASHINGTON”; or upon the first three of April 10, “THE GLORIOUS CONSUMMATION--THE REBELLION ENDED--SURRENDER OF LEE.” Throughout the war the _Evening Post_ was as distinguished for one feature--its poetry--as the _Herald_ was for its admirable maps. Every writer of verse took inspiration from the conflict, and sent it to the only newspaper conducted by a great poet. A few days after Sumter surrendered, the editors declared that if poetry could win the war, they already had enough to do it. Four years later, on April 13, 1865, they remarked that “we have received verses in celebration of the late victories enough to fill four or five columns of our paper.” Among the first war poems published by the _Evening Post_ were two of genuine distinction, R. H. Stoddard’s stirring call to war, “Men of the North and West,” and Christopher Cranch’s stanzas, “The Burial of Our Flag”: O who are they that troop along, and whither do they go? Why move they thus with measured tread, while funeral trumpets blow?-- Why gather round that open grave in mockery of woe? They stand together on the brink--they shovel in the clod-- But what is that they bury deep?--Why trample they the sod? Why hurry they so fast away without a prayer to God? It was no corpse of friend or foe. I saw a flag uprolled-- The golden stars, the gleaming stripes were gathered fold on fold, And lowered into the hollow grave to rot beneath the mould. Then up they hoisted all around, on towers, and hills, and crags, The emblem of their traitorous schemes--their base disunion flags. That very night there blew a wind that tore them all to rags! And one that flaunted bravest by the storm was swept away, And hurled upon the grave in which our country’s banner lay-- Where, soaked with rain and stained with mud, they found it the next day. From out the North a Power comes forth--a patient power too long-- The spirit of the great free air--a tempest swift and strong; The living burial of our flag--he will not brook that wrong.