It is a remarkable fact that, in spite of the recent Act, there are no less than three hundred sweeps who still continue to cry "sweep," in the very teeth of the legislative measure alluded to. I have been in the habit of meeting many of these sweeps at the house I use for my breakfast; and in the course of conversation with them, I have generally found that they know they are breaking the law in calling out "sweep," but they do not raise the cry for the mere purpose of law-breaking. I am sure it would be found on inquiry that it is only with the view of getting business that they call out at all; and this shows the impolicy of making a law which is not enforced; for they all know that it is very seldom acted upon. The same argument will apply to the punishment of death; and my friend Jack Ketch, whom I meet at the Frog and Frying-pan, tells me that he has hanged a great many who never expected it. If I were to be asked to make all the laws for this country, I certainly should manage things in a very different manner; and I am glad to say that I have legal authority on my side, for the lad who opens the door at Mr. Adolphus's chambers--with whom I am on terms of the closest intimacy--thinks as I do upon every great question of legal and constitutional policy. But this is "neither here nor there," as my publisher told me when I asked him for the profits of my last book, and I shall therefore drop the subject. In speaking of eminent publishers, I must not forget to mention Mr. Catnach, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for having been the first to introduce me to the literary career I have since so successfully followed. I believe I was the first who carried into effect Mr. Catnach's admirable idea of having the last dying speeches all struck off on the night before an execution, so as to get them into the hands of the public as early as possible. It was, moreover, my own suggestion to stereotype one speech, to be used on all occasions; and I also must claim the merit of having recommended the fixing a man's head at the top of the document as "a portrait of the murderer." Catnach and I have always been on the best of terms, but he is naturally rather angry that I have not always published with him, which he thinks--and many others tell me the same thing--I always should have done. At all events, Catnach has not much right to complain, for he has on two occasions wholly repainted his shop-shutters from effusions of mine; and I know that he has greatly extended his toy and marble business through the profits of a poetical version of the fate of Fauntleroy, which was very popular in its day, and which I wrote for him.