But.

The things he hadn't defined had changed so radically as to bend his mind. For one thing, the population: It seemed that when he increased the political power, he had done it by multiplying the residents by a thousandfold. Now the entire isle of (New) York was crowded with people, and so were the adjacent regions. The lovely open fields and dense forests were gone. The roads were jammed with metal vehicles, so that motion was almost impossible. The pollution of their fires made the air almost unbreathable, and their wastes made the clear waters of the rivers and sea opaque. It was horrible!

Worse, it seemed that the plot to turn vellum into hats had been successful, for the isle had been renamed man-hat-on, or Manhattan. The cloister remained unchanged, true; it was now titled The Cloisters, and was considered a tourist attraction. But its function was gone; it was no longer the ultimate repository of learning. That had been pre-empted by the larger literary and commercial establishment at the south part of the isle. Meanwhile, the tourists flocked in, especially their females, in their unmentionable clothing, turning the heads of even the saintliest monks—it was a time for desperate prayer! Who could guess what further degradations awaited to be discovered?

The Abbot pondered. Had he made a mistake? Should he return immediately to the dread Sphere and change the settings again? This might result in improvement—or an even worse situation. What should he do?

Meanwhile, oblivious to the threat to reality as they thought they knew it, the kings, queens, rich men, broncs and hatters went about their business. Had they but known...