This question, however, rises; alas, a quite preliminary question: Will the _Dominus Rex_ allow us to choose freely? It is to be hoped! Well, if so, we agree to choose one of our own Convent. If not, if the _Dominus Rex_ will force a stranger on us, we decide on demurring, the Prior and his Twelve shall demur: we can appeal, plead, remonstrate; appeal even to the Pope, but trust it will not be necessary. Then there is this other question, raised by Brother Samson: What if the Thirteen should not themselves be able to agree? Brother Samson _Subsacrista,_ one remarks, is ready oftenest with some question, some suggestion, that has wisdom in it. Though a servant of servants, and saying little, his words all tell, having sense in them; it seems by his light mainly that we steer ourselves in this great dimness. What if the Thirteen should not themselves be able to agree? Speak, Samson, and advise.--Could not, hints Samson, Six of our venerablest elders be chosen by us, a kind of electoral committee, here and now: of these, `with their hand on the Gospels, with their eye on the _Sacrosancta,'_ we take oath that they will do faithfully; let these, in secret and as before God, agree on Three whom they reckon fittest; write their names in a Paper, and deliver the same sealed, forthwith, to the Thirteen: one of those Three the Thirteen shall fix on, if permitted. If not permitted, that is to say, if the _Dominus Rex_ force us to demur,--the Paper shall be brought back unopened, and publicly burned, that no man's secret bring him into trouble. So Samson advises, so we act; wisely, in this and in other crises of the business. Our electoral committee, its eye on the Sacrosancta,_ is soon named, soon sworn; and we striking up the Fifth Psalm, _'Verba mea,_ `Give ear unto my words, O Lord, My meditation weigh,' march out chanting, and leave the Six to their work in the Chapter here. Their work, before long, they announce as finished: they, with their eye on the Sacrosancta, imprecating the Lord to weigh and witness their meditation, have fixed on Three Names, and written them in this Sealed Paper. Let Samson Subsacrista, general servant of the party, take charge of it. On the morrow morning, our Prior and his Twelve will be ready to get under way. This then is the ballot-box and electoral winnowing-machine they have at St. Edmundsbury: a mind fixed on the Thrice Holy, an appeal to God on high to witness their meditation: by far the best, and indeed the only good electoral winnowing-machine,--If men have souls in them. Totally worthless, it is true, and even hideous and poisonous, if men have no souls. But without soul, alas what winnowing-machine in human elections, can be of avail? We cannot get along without soul; we stick fast, the mournfullest spectacle; and salt itself will not save us!