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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Mark Twain

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Well, by the end of three weeks everything was in pretty good shape. The shirt was sent in early, in a pie, and every time a rat bit Jim he would get up and write a little in his journal whilst the ink was fresh; the pens was made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the grindstone; the bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust, and it give us a most amazing stomach-ache. We reckoned we was all going to die, but didn’t. It was the most undigestible sawdust I ever see; and Tom said the same.

 

“Come in,” says the woman, and I did. She says: “Take a cheer.”

 

“Yes, sir, it’s the best way. Ma used to always say that.”

 

“He had a dream,” I says, “and it shot him.”

 

“There’s several; but it’s the Proctors, mainly.”

 

“That’s just the way with me, hain’t it, Huck? You’ve heard me talk just that way—haven’t you, Huck? I’ll leave it to Huck if I haven’t.”

 

“Say, Tom, let’s give this place up, and try somewheres else.”

 

The morning after the funeral Tom took Huck to a private place to have an important talk. Huck had learned all about Tom’s adventure from the Welshman and the Widow Douglas, by this time, but Tom said he reckoned there was one thing they had not told him; that thing was what he wanted to talk about now. Huck’s face saddened. He said:

 

“Why, that, you know, is to—well, they always do that.”

 

“Tom, I wisht you’d come, too. Now you think it over. We’ll wait for you when we get to shore.”

 

The Ruffler sighed; the listeners sighed in sympathy; a general depression fell upon the company for a moment, for even hardened outcasts like these are not wholly dead to sentiment, but are able to feel a fleeting sense of loss and affliction at wide intervals and under peculiarly favouring circumstances—as in cases like to this, for instance, when genius and culture depart and leave no heir.  However, a deep drink all round soon restored the spirits of the mourners.

 

“O, dear, O dear!” cried the benevolent stranger, “O poor soul, poor soul, how he doth suffer!  There—let me help thee up.”

 

“Cheer us and warm us with thy gracious rays, O flaming sun of sovereignty!”

 

Tom’s breath came quick and short with excitement, and his eyes grew big with wonder and delight.  Everything gave way in his mind instantly to one desire:  that was to get close to the prince, and have a good, devouring look at him.  Before he knew what he was about, he had his face against the gate-bars.  The next instant one of the soldiers snatched him rudely away, and sent him spinning among the gaping crowd of country gawks and London idlers.  The soldier said,—

 

Christ’s Hospital, by ancient custom, possesses the privilege of addressing the Sovereign on the occasion of his or her coming into the City to partake of the hospitality of the Corporation of London.—Ibid.

 

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