No doubt the iconoclastic fury is to be regretted; for such treasures
can scarcely be renewed. The age for building and decorating great
cathedrals is past. Certainly, our own age, practical and benevolent, if
less poetical, should occupy itself with the present, and project itself
into the future. It should render glory to God rather by causing wealth
to fertilize the lowest valleys of humanity, than by rearing gorgeous
temples where paupers are to kneel. To clothe the naked, redeem the
criminal, feed the hungry, less by alms and homilies than by preventive
institutions and beneficent legislation; above all, by the diffusion of
national education, to lift a race upon a level of culture hardly
attained by a class in earlier times, is as lofty a task as to accumulate
piles of ecclesiastical splendor.

It would be tedious to recount in detail the events which characterized
the remarkable image-breaking in the Netherlands. As Antwerp was the
central point in these transactions, and as there was more wealth and
magnificence in the great cathedral of that city than in any church of
northern Europe, it is necessary to give a rapid outline of the events
which occurred there. From its exhibition in that place the spirit every
where will best be shown.

The Church of Our Lady, which Philip had so recently converted into a
cathedral, dated from the year 1124, although it may be more fairly
considered a work of the fourteenth century. Its college of canons had
been founded in another locality by Godfrey of Bouillon. The Brabantine
hero, who so romantically incarnates the religious poetry of his age, who
first mounted the walls of redeemed Jerusalem, and was its first
Christian monarch, but who refused to accept a golden diadem on the spot
where the Saviour had been crowned with thorns; the Fleming who lived and