known the cat language in time, and had made the
acquaintance of the Maltese."

The Colonel paused, and presently I asked him if he really expected us
to believe his story. "Why not?" he replied. "It isn't any stiffer than
Darwin's yarn about our being descended from monkeys. You believe that
on the word of a man you never saw, and I expect you to believe my story
that I understand the cat language on my unsupported word. Perhaps the
story is a little tough, but if you are going in for science you
shouldn't let your credulity be backed down by any story."

[Illustration: IDLERS]

[Illustration: J. L. Toole "Walker. London" "Oh Sarah I'm slipping"]

"LIONS IN THEIR DENS."

J. L. TOOLE.

BY RAYMOND BLATHWAYT.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY LOUIS GUNNIS.

(_Photographs by Messrs. Fradelle & Young, and Falk, of Sydney._)

[Illustration: MR. TOOLE IN "THE STEEPLECHASE."]

[Illustration: MR. TOOLE'S HOUSE.]

[Illustration: "I CAN'T LAY MY HANDS ON 'EM."]

Every one who writes an article upon Mr. Toole begins by telling his
readers how entirely lovable a man he is, and I do not know why I should
differ from every one else, for, in this case at all events, what every
one says is true. There are few actors, either in the past or present,
who have so thoroughly succeeded in placing themselves upon a footing of
the most friendly and cordial nature with their audience as Mr. John
Lawrence Toole. And not only has he succeeded in establishing such
relations between himself and his audience, but he has been to the full
as successful in endowing the characters he has undertaken with those
same lovable qualities which have endeared him both to the public and to
his own private friends. Few actors so entirely breathe into their parts
the very spirit of their nature and essence of their being as Mr. Toole
breathes into his. With high and low, rich and old, young and poor
alike, he is a never-failing favourite, and the moment his kindly face
appears upon the stage, and the familiar voice once again awakens the
memories of bygone years, a burst of affectionate applause breaks out in
welcome of the dear old favourite of our English stage. No matter where
a man has been; in the Great Republic over the water, or in the burning
lands of India, or in the New World under our feet; when he returns,
after years of absence, to the old country, and the familiar faces have
passed away, and all things have become new, yet there is still