Retracing our steps, we have on our right ancient buildings at present used by the boys of the same school; beyond them we reach again the Ely Porta; and this time we pass through it to find ourselves in a side street of the little city, along which run the station omnibuses. Opposite the gateway is a modern building, "Hereward Hall," occupied by the King's Scholars; while the dignified Chamber of the Ely Porta is also at their service in school hours. Turning to the right we follow the street, here styled "the Gallery," and we make straight for the cathedral. On our left is the wall of the Palace garden, and, showing well above, we see its splendid plane tree, planted in 1639, and said to be the finest in England. Now we are actually approaching the western tower and the south-western transept of the cathedral; and these we may take as an object lesson. Ely, like Rome, was not built in a day, and it took centuries to complete its tower. Begun during the latter half of the twelfth century, the lower part is of late Norman work, with round arches and bold simple mouldings; but the architect and workmen who built these passed away, and their work had to be continued by the hands of others on whom had dawned the beauty of pointed arches. These later builders were not to be tied down by what they felt to be the crude ideas of former generations; and we see the workmanship of the tower and transept, stage above stage bearing evidence of growth, till through the Early English period it has passed into a narrowed octagonal tower with windows of Decorated tracery. There is a delicious harmony in it all; in the intricacy of the masonry, in the very colour of the stone; and we admire those builders of yore who, while respecting the work of their forefathers, did not hesitate to deal with their material according to their own fuller light and skill. Perhaps we shall doubt as to calling the topmost octagonal tower wholly in keeping with the base of the steeple; yet if we had the power we should not have the wish to alter it. It is well that we should realise how much the preservation of this stately steeple has cost. Ever since the central tower fell in 1322, sacrists, priors, monks, bishops, deans, have lived in constant terror lest what had befallen the central might also befall the western tower. We can read how they have braced it with iron and wood, how they have weighted it with bells; how they have lightened it by removing its wooden spire, how they have buttressed it, how they have plastered it. Century after century they have continued the repairs, sometimes making mistakes, but never asking the question, fatal to all good work, "Is it worth while?" There it stands, surveying its vast plain for thirty miles around, with its air of unbroken security.