obliged to fill up are endless, and the good which they can hope to do to the men is infinitesimal, since they can scarcely ever see a man alone, or even make an attempt to win his confidence.
The only way in which a convict can be induced to talk freely and honestly to his pastor is to see him alone in a room at the parsonage if possible, (not at the prison,) then to enter into conversation with him about indifferent matters until he has lost his prison tone of voice and manners, (which are as different as possible to his natural ones,) and, when at last he begins to speak like a man and not like a machine, it may be possible to do something with him. But neither at a depôt nor in the camp of a road party can the chaplain see any of the men alone without considerable difficulty and parade, since at neither place is any special provision for that object thought necessary. If a prisoner should express a wish to speak to the clergyman alone he must name that desire to the warder, and the interview will take place either in the warder's quarters or in the clerk's office if at the depôt, or in the men's sleeping hut if in the bush.
All these long rides, all this filling up of forms is a mere matter of outside regularity and respectability, and it is impossible for the chaplain to learn anything of the men's individual character thereby. The chaplain rides up, the warder summons the men—"Attention, get your books for service"—the short service is over, and the chaplain says to his congregation, of perhaps ten Protestants out of the sixteen men who may compose the party, "Well, men, any wish to express, any question to ask?" " No, sir, except you could lend us some books."
