ing to the people at large what yeast or leaven is to a
batch, they threw the whole community in a ferment; and the people at
large being to the city what the mind is to the body, the unhappy
commotions they underwent operated most disastrously upon New Amsterdam;
insomuch that, in certain of their paroxysms of consternation and
perplexity, they begat several of the most crooked, distorted, and
abominable streets, lanes, and alleys, with which this metropolis is
disfigured.

The fact was, that about this time the community, like Balaam's ass, began
to grow more enlightened than its rider, and to show a disposition for
what is called "self-government." This restive propensity was first
evinced in certain popular meetings, in which the burghers of New
Amsterdam met to talk and smoke over the complicated affairs of the
province, gradually obfuscating themselves with politics and tobacco
smoke. Hither resorted those idlers and squires of low degree who hang
loose on society and are blown about by every wind of doctrine. Cobblers
abandoned their stalls to give lessons on political economy; blacksmiths
suffered their fires to go out, while they stirred up the fires of
faction; and even tailors, though said to be the ninth parts of humanity,
neglected their own measures to criticise the measures of government.

Strange! that the science of government, which seems to be so generally
understood, should invariably be denied to the only one called upon to
exercise it. Not one of the politicians in question, but, take his word
for it, could have administered affairs ten times better than William the
Testy.

Under the instructions of these political oracles, the good people of New
Amsterdam soon became exceedingly enlightened; and, as a matter of course,
exceedingly discontented. They gradually found out the fearful error in
which they had indulged, of thinking themselves the happiest people in
creation; and were convinced that, all circumstances to the contrary not
withstanding, they were a very unhappy, deluded, and consequently ruined
people!

We are naturally prone to discontent, and avaricious after imaginary
causes of lamentation. Like lubberly monks, we belabor our own shoulders,
and take a vast satisfaction in the music of our own groans. Nor is this
said by way of paradox; daily experience shows the truth of these
observations. It is almost impossible to elevate the spirits of a man
groaning under ideal calamities; but