Read it through once

My father, like the man of sense he was, Would point him out to me a dozen times; “St--St,” he’d whisper, “the Corregidor!” {90} I had been used to think that personage Was one with lacquered breeches, lustrous belt, And feathers like a forest in his hat, Who blew a trumpet and proclaimed the news, Announced the bull-fights, gave each church its turn, And memorized the miracle in vogue! He had a great observance from us boys; We were in error; that was not the man.