Oh, dear me, I hope I'm able,
All day long to keep my cable.

These hilly-cum-goes are not run by electricity at all, but just
pretend. They are run by three things - black magic, white magic and a
sense of humor. Black magic takes them up the hills, white magic
restrains them down, and the sense of humor is in the Irish conductors.
You may hear, if you listen, the magic coming out of the ground,
"Kibble-kable, kibble-kable," only fast as anything. At noon time it
goes "Putter, putter, putter," and at bed-time, "Kuddle-kiddie,
kuddle-kiddie."

This magic is very, very important. Especially going down hill. Did you
ever, my dears, descend that precipice at the end of the Fillmore street
line? What is it that keeps you from landing flat on your nose on Union
street? Nothing but white magic. What is it that keeps you from shooting
from the Fairmont, straight down into the St. Francis? White magic.

The sense of humor is also very important. Suppose a stout person gets
on, the conductor hops immediately to the opposite side for ballast.
That takes a sense of humor. If the hilly-cum-go is full of young
people, especially sweethearts, the Uncle jiggles the hilly-cum-go
horribly, but if old people are on it goes - "See-saw, Marjory Daw,"
just gently.

I trust, dear children, that all these facts will make you appreciate
more the hilly-cum-go, and when you sit on it so cosy, so intimate with
the street, riding along looking at the scenery, you will be thankful,
that poor old horses do not have to tug you up hill, and that you have