It is in the orations and pamphlets and state papers inspired by
the Revolutionary agitation that we find the most satisfactory
expression of the thought and feeling of that generation. Its
typical literature is civic rather than aesthetic, a sort of
writing which has been incidental to the accomplishing of some
political, social, or moral purpose, and which scarcely regards
itself as literature at all. James Otis's argument against the
Writs of Assistance in Massachusetts in 1761, and Patrick Henry's
speech in the Virginia House of Burgesses in 1765, mark epochs in
the emotional life of these communities. They were reported
imperfectly or not at all, but they can no more be ignored in an
assessment of our national experience than editorials, sermons,
or conversations which have expressed the deepest feelings of a
day and then have perished beyond resurrection.

Yet if natural orators like Otis and Henry be denied a strictly
"literary" rating because their surviving words are obviously
inadequate to account for the popular effect of their speeches,
it is still possible to measure the efficiency of the
pamphleteer. When John Adams tells us that "James Otis was Isaiah
and Ezekiel united," we must take his word for the impression
which Otis's oratory left upon his mind. But John Adams's own
writings fill ten stout volumes which invite our judgment. The
"truculent and sarcastic splendor" of his hyperboles need not
blind us to his real literary excellencies, such as clearness,
candor, vigor of phrase, freshness of idea. A testy, rugged,
"difficult" person was John Adams, but he grew mellower with age,
and his latest letters and journals are full of whimsical charm.

John Adams's cousin Samuel was not precisely a charming person.