From Infancy to Sinfancy.

Let's go into mysterics. What is mystery? Mystery, according to the dictionary, is “something beyond human comprehension,” such as selling plus-fours to sailors, selling grandfather clocks to Professor Einstein on the time-payment system, or tossing the pint at the Olimpic games.

Some say that the greatest mystery in life is life, and there is no doubt that often it seems “something beyond human comprehension”; others opine that mystery is merely mist-ery or blighter's cramp in the brain. Many maintain that life is as full of mystery as Edgar Allan Poesy, the day dreams of a night-watchman, or the private life of a ghost. To most of us, life is a mystery from early infancy to hurly-burly sinfancy. For instance, it is a mystery how man has succeeded in surviving the horrors of civilisation, why history repeats itself when it ought to know better, and how the ant always remembers to recollect that it is an ant and regulates its antics accordingly. It is a mystery where the hole in a sock goes to, how Scotch children know what money looks like, and why rabbits never get rabies. It is a mystery how tail-less dogs know when they're pleased, why elephants don't come from Tuscany, whether horse-stingers now bite motor cars, where a noise goes to, who trains the mystery trains, and who puts the mist into the mystery?