I have just been reading a few schoolboy howlers. I fancy that most of these howlers are manufactured. I cannot be persuaded that any boy ever defined a lie as "An abomination unto the Lord but a very present help in time of trouble." Howlers bore me; so do most school yarns. The only one worth remembering is the one about the inspector who was ratty.
"Here, boy," he fired at a sleepy youth, "who wrote Hamlet?"
The boy started violently.
"P—please, sir, it wasna me," he stammered.
That evening the inspector was dining with the local squire.
"Very funny thing happened to-day," he said, as they lit their cigars.
"I was a little bit irritated, and I shouted at a boy, 'Who wrote Hamlet?' The little chap was flustered. 'P—please, sir, it wasna me!' he stuttered."
The squire guffawed loudly.
"And I suppose the little devil had done it after all!" he roared.
* * *