“Mark Twain” was first signed to a Carson letter, February 2, 1863, and from that time was attached to all of Samuel Clemens’s work.  The letters had already been widely copied, and the name now which gave them personality quickly obtained vogue.  It was attached to himself as well as to the letters; heretofore he had been called Sam or Clemens, now he became almost universally Mark Twain and Mark.

This early period of Mark Twain’s journalism is full of delicious history, but we are permitted here to retell only such of it as will supply connection to the infrequent letters.  He wrote home briefly in February, but the letter contained nothing worth preserving.  Then two months later he gives us at least a hint of his employment.

To Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis: 

Virginia, April 11, 1863.  My dear mother and sister,—­It is very late at night, and I am writing in my room, which is not quite as large or as nice as the one I had at home.  My board, washing and lodging cost me seventy-five dollars a month.

I have just received your letter, Ma, from Carson—­the one in which you doubt my veracity about the statements I made in a letter to you.  That’s right.  I don’t recollect what the statements were, but I suppose they were mining statistics.  I have just finished writing up my report for the morning paper, and giving the Unreliable a column of advice about how to conduct himself in church, and now I will tell you a few more lies, while my hand is in.  For instance, some of the boys made me a present of fifty feet in the East India G. and S. M. Company ten days ago.  I was offered ninety-five dollars a foot for it, yesterday, in gold.  I refused it—­not because I think the claim is worth a cent for I don’t but because I had a curiosity to see how high it would go, before people find out how worthless it is.  Besides, what if one mining claim does fool me?  I have got plenty more.  I am not in a particular hurry to get rich.  I suppose I couldn’t well help getting rich here some time or other, whether I wanted to or not.  You folks do not believe in Nevada, and I am glad you don’t.  Just keep on thinking so.

I was at the Gould and Curry mine, the other day, and they had two or three tons of choice rock piled up, which was valued at $20,000 a ton.  I gathered up a hat-full of chunks, on account of their beauty as specimens—­they don’t let everybody supply themselves so liberally.  I send Mr. Moffett a little specimen of it for his cabinet.  If you don’t know what the white stuff on it is, I must inform you that it is purer silver than the minted coin.  There is about as much gold in it as there is silver, but it is not visible.  I will explain to you some day how to detect it.