Deeply compassionating the effects of so illiberal an innovation, Mr. G. Almar the author to, and Mr. R. Honner the proprietor of, Sadler's Wells Theatre, have produced an exhibition which in a great degree makes up for the infrequent performances at the Old Bailey. Those whose moral sensibilities are refined to the choking point--who can relish stage strangulation in all its interesting varieties better than Shakspere, are now provided with a rich treat. They need not wait for the Recorder's black cap and a black Monday morning--the Sadler's Wells' people hang every night with great success; for, unless one goes early, there is--as is the case wherever hanging takes place--no _standing room_ to be had for love or money. The play is simply the history of Jack Ketch, a gentleman who flourished at the beginning of the last century, and who, by industry and perseverance, attained to the rank of public executioner; an office he performed with such skill and effect that his successors have, as the bills inform us, inherited "his soubriquet" with his office. He is introduced to the audience as a ropemaker's apprentice, living in the immediate neighbourhood of Execution-Dock, and loving _Barbara Allen_, "a young spinster residing at the Cottage of Content, upon the borders of Epping Forest, supporting herself by the produce of her wheel and the cultivation of her flower-garden." He beguiles his time, while twisting the hemp, by spinning a tedious yarn about this well-to-do spinster; from which we infer _Barbara's_ barbarity, and that he is crossed in love. The soliloquy is interrupted by an elderly man, who enters to remark that he has come out for a little relaxation after a hard morning's work: no wonder, for we soon learn that he is the _Jack Ketch_ of his day, and has, but an hour before, tucked up two brace of pirates. With this pleasing information, and a sharp dialogue on his favourite subject with the hero, he retires.