There was a choir of a dozen or so prisoners, most of whom were long-term men in some position of trust.

Short-timers are not, I believe, eligible for membership; indeed, the whole public opinion of the establishment is against these unfortunates, who have committed no crime worth speaking of; and I still remember with what a look of disgust the worthy schoolmaster once described them to me as "Mere parasites, here to-day and gone to-morrow." Having a bit of a voice, I was invited to join the sweet psalmists of Holloway; but I explained that I was only a spectator of the chapel performances, and could not possibly become an assistant.

The privileges enjoyed by the choristers are not, however, to be despised.

They drop their work two or three times a week for practice, and they have an advantage in matters which are trifling enough outside, but very important in prison.

In chapel they sit together on the front benches, and if they smile and whisper they are not so sharply reprimanded as the common herd behind them.
Another privileged class were the cooks, who occupied the last bench, and rested their backs against the wall.