From General Warren we have a letter dated January 14, 1775, only a few
months before he attested the sincerity of his patriotism, in his own
blood, on Bunker Hill. His handwriting has many ungraceful flourishes.
All the small d's spout upward in parabolic curves, and descend at a
considerable distance. His pen seems to have had nothing but hair-lines
in it; and the whole letter, though perfectly legible, has a look of
thin and unpleasant irregularity. The subject is a plan for securing to
the colonial party the services of Colonel Gridley the engineer, by an
appeal to his private interests. Though writing to General Palmer, an
intimate friend, Warren signs himself, most ceremoniously, "Your
obedient servant." Indeed, these stately formulas in winding up a
letter were scarcely laid aside, whatever might be the familiarity of
intercourse: husband and wife were occasionally, on paper at least, the
"obedient servants" of one another; and not improbably, among well-bred
people, there was a corresponding ceremonial of bows and courtesies,
even in the deepest interior of domestic life. With all the reality
that filled men's hearts, and which has stamped its impress on so many
of these letters, it was a far more formal age than the present.

It may be remarked, that Warren was almost the only man eminently
distinguished in the intellectual phase of the Revolution, previous to
the breaking out of the war, who actually uplifted his arm to do battle.
The legislative patriots were a distinct class from the patriots of the
camp, and never laid aside the gown for the sword. It was very
different in the great civil war of England, where the leading minds of
the age, when argument had done its office, or left it undone, put on
their steel breastplates and appeared as leaders in the field. Educated
young men, members of the old colonial families,--gentlemen, as John
Adams terms them,--seem not to have sought employment in the