It is said that Mark Twain never really recovered from the tragedy of his brother’s death—­that it was responsible for the serious, pathetic look that the face of the world’s greatest laugh-maker always wore in repose.

He went back to the river, and in September of the same year, after an apprenticeship of less than eighteen months, received his license as a St. Louis and New Orleans pilot, and was accepted by his old chief, Bixby, as full partner on an important boat.  In Life on the Mississippi Mark Twain makes the period of his study from two to two and a half years, but this is merely an attempt to magnify his dullness.  He was, in fact, an apt pupil and a pilot of very high class.

Clemens was now suddenly lifted to a position of importance.  The Mississippi River pilot of those days was a person of distinction, earning a salary then regarded as princely.  Certainly two hundred and fifty dollars a month was large for a boy of twenty-three.  At once, of course, he became the head of the Clemens family.  His brother Orion was ten years older, but he had not the gift of success.  By common consent the younger brother assumed permanently the position of family counselor and financier.  We expect him to feel the importance of his new position, and he is too human to disappoint us.  Incidentally, we notice an improvement in his English.  He no longer writes “between you and I”

Fragment of a letter to Orion Clemens.  Written at St.
Louis in 1859: 

.....I am not talking nonsense, now--I am in earnest, I want you to keep
your troubles and your plans out of the reach of meddlers, until the
latter are consummated, so that in case you fail, no one will know it but
yourself.

Above all things (between you and me) never tell Ma any of your troubles; she never slept a wink the night your last letter came, and she looks distressed yet.  Write only cheerful news to her.  You know that she will not be satisfied so long as she thinks anything is going on that she is ignorant of—­and she makes a little fuss about it when her suspicions are awakened; but that makes no difference—.  I know that it is better that she be kept in the dark concerning all things of an unpleasant nature.  She upbraids me occasionally for giving her only the bright side of my affairs (but unfortunately for her she has to put up with it, for I know that troubles that I curse awhile and forget, would disturb her slumbers for some time.) (Parenthesis No. 2—­Possibly because she is deprived of the soothing consolation of swearing.) Tell her the good news and me the bad.