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HEN the officers of the three regiments of Guards conceived the idea some twenty-five years ago to build an institute for their privates and non-commissioned officers, they little thought that the great square building at the corner of Carlisle-place, near Victoria Station, would one day be converted into the residence of the Archbishop of Westminster. It was destined to be so, however, and was purchased in March, 1873, for this purpose. It is hard to realise, as the door closes behind me, and with it shuts out the slightest noise of passing traffic, that His Eminence Cardinal Manning sleeps in a small corner of a great gallery where a stage once stood, and where red-coats once danced to the strains of merry music; that the great reception-room was a few years ago fitted up with carpenters' benches, and Guardsmen so inclined could try their skill with plane and chisel. Not a vestige of their presence remains. Nothing could be quieter or more simple. There is an air of solemnity about the place, this home of Cardinal Manning.

I have just seen the Cardinal. The day is cold, and he wears over his black cassock, edged with the traditional red, a long overcoat. Around his neck is the gold chain and cross of the See, and on his finger a massive ring, set with a glorious sapphire given to him by the late Pope. His still bright eyes, in a face typical of intense