So the bishop goes on with his role, but uneasily conscious of the
contempt of intellectual people.

I pine among my million imbeciles
(You think) aware some dozen men of sense
Eye me and know me, whether I believe
In the last winking virgin as I vow,
And am a fool, or disbelieve in her,
And am a knave.

But, as he says, you have to keep a tight hold upon the chain of
faith, that is what

Gives all the advantage, makes the difference,
With the rough, purblind mass we seek to rule.
We are their lords, or they are free of us,
Just as we tighten or relax that hold.

So he continues, but not with entire satisfaction, in his role of
shepherd to those whom he calls "King Bomba's lazzaroni," and
"ragamuffin saints."

I wander into a Catholic bookstore and look to see what Bishop
Blougram is doing with his lazzaroni and his ragamuffin saints here in
this new country of the far West. It is easy to acquire the
information, for the saleswoman is polite and the prices fit my purse.
America is going to war, and Catholic boys are being drafted to be
trained for battle; so for ten cents I obtain a firmly bound little
pamphlet called "God's Armor, a Prayer Book for Soldiers." It is