The Birmingham age-herald., 1911-06-30
From the Kansas City Star.

HO the Star: Yes, the boat is in, the
 cargo is on the docks, but with it all there is something missing, a romantic little touch which always seemed to give the river a more jovial atmosphere than in these days of business It isn't hard to remember what that some thing was-the songs.
 In the vista of my memory is pictured the queer little town of Waverly, Mo-. perched sleepily upon its high Mount Rucker," with the little line of stores, it's bank and its blue window shades. There with stone bruised feet, freckled face and curls that I hated. I used to play about the one street, always waiting, always wishing for a certain sound which meant happiness to me. It seemed mighty long between times, but eveutaly 1t would come, the whistle close at hand:
 r-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ou'
 I would jump with gladness. or Uncle Jaspeh Wash'ntn. sitting in front of the bank would clutch his stick with rheu- matic endeavor and struggle to his feet, his teeth gleaming white In broad ex- panse his eyes twinklirfg. Then as he hobbled along he would turn to me, give cackling "yee-ahrh-h-h' of laughter, beckon me to follow (for he was my grandfather's slave and had refused to leave when the war came), and then croon as we started down the long hill: "Oh, hea' de boat come 'roun' de ben,
 Cno'by mah loVeh, goo'by,
 Done loaded down wifi niigeh men,
 Goo'by. nah loveh, goo'by,
 Go-o-o-o-o-'by, nah ladyy-y-y-y-y-y, Go-o-o-o-o-'by, nah lady-y-y-y-y. Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-' by
 'Heah, youl he'd call/ wed betteh hurry eff we'se gwine see dat boat"
 Then down the hill we'd tumble, finally to watch the old Mason" round to and come to port. Slowly the gangplanl1 would be lowered and then came the pie ture that has always fingered in my memory.
 Streaming up the gangplank would come a seemingly never ending line of ne groes. It always used to puzzle me where they all came from, for l neglect ed to notice that they worked in g. dou- ble line, some going back, while others came forward There was one of mon strous stature, always with the iightest load, of course, but always busy. Sweat ing, his eyes flashing and his head cooked to one side he seemed veritable mon ster to my young mind-but he always had my attention. Out he'd shoot from the darkness of the boat, his cheeks bel lowed for the explosion which was sure to come
 Now, whah, O whah hab de pop weasel
 gone?"
 Then from the stream of struggling, perspiring negroes would come the an- swer in quavering tones which, however, boomed with the strength of husky lungs "oveh in de con crib, oveh in de con
 crib!"
 Then again from the montsrous one: "An' what, O what hab de pop weasel
 done? 'ss
 But the answer never came, for it was the same refrain:
 ONch i'i tic GU II ciip, ofeh III NV VI -'
 crib!'
 Then, altogether. the monstrous one shaking the very ship with his great voice. would thunder the whole version; "Wbeh. oh winch hab de pop weasel
 gone?
 What, oh what, hab de pop weasel
 done? Winch. oh winch hab de pop weasel gone
 Oyeh in de con crib, ya-a-s indeed!
 And there'd be no cessation. sec ond later. some St. Louis negro, late from civilization and the newer era of songs, would spring something like this: "cood evenin', Miss Car'line. yo' sholy |A looking fine;
 Good eyenin', Miss Carline yo' hair is kinky behin';
 A shas to ashes, dus' to dus', If de whisky don git yo. well de cocaine Good eyenin'. Miss Car'lne. yo sholy looking fine.'
 Rv that time the first verse was over the rest had caught the refrain and after that the words took care of themselves The monster for a moment would look plqued. Then at the first opportunity