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LOVE OF CHANGE-HOUSE HUNTING.

Man never is, but always to be blest.- Pope.

THERE must be a great quantity of Dutch blood in this city, for the euphonious names of Vanbenschoten, Vanvredenburgh, Vanvoorhis, Vanoutersturp, Vanschaick, Vanbokkelin, Vanmeerbeekie, Vogelsang, Vonck, Volk, Vogt, &c. are to be met with in every street, and at every corner ; but in what street or at what corner are to be found the still and tranquil virtues, the sedate and circumspect demeanor, the profound love of ease and phlegmatic temperament of the ancient denizens of Manabatta ? In the good old times that have for ever passed away from this island, a man might be born, reared, married, and buried within a circuit of three miles ; and a true Dutchman would as soon have thought of going to bed without his night-cap, as of chopping and changing about from one house to another. Wherever he first inhaled the breath of life, there he exbaled it. It was quite clear to his mind that Providence had cast his lot in a certain street, and a certain house, and for him to think of emigrating to another, would not only be presumptuously setting up his judgment against high authority, but a great waste of bodily exertion. Indeed, when he looked around, and saw all the furniture firmly fixed—the ponderous dresser—the solemn 'clock the substantial table-just as his great-grandfather had placed them when the first ship first drifted from Holland to this coast, the idea of pulling them from their places, carrying them out into the open air, and setting them up in another domicile, seemed not only a sacrilegious disturbance of the household gods, but an enterprise requiring so much toil and trouble, as to make it scarcely worth the while attempting, considering the short time that is allotted for man to sojourn in this world. So lived the forefathers of a goodly portion of the present quicksilver generation. They worked when there was no help for it, and sat still whenever they could ; they counted over their bright silver dollars (the only kind of change a Dutchman loves) and put them carefully away in their old stockings—they took their glass of genuine Schedam, they smoked their pipes in peace-

· They eat and drank and slept. What then?
They eat and drank and slept again."

And even so passed away the mortal existence of the forefathers of the identical Master Cicero Vanderscholten, that goes to masquerades and executes pigeon-wings and pirouettes with such grace and agility; and so lived the progenitors of Miss Cecilia Amelia Anna Maria Vanwaggenen, that makes a noise on the piano, and keeps an album! O tempora, O mores!

Of all the civilized nations on the face of the earth, the Americans seem to attach the least value to a " local habitation;" and of all the parts of America, New-York is the most restless. Its citizens seem to be born with a feverish love of change and excitement, which pervades, more or less, every action of their lives, and to this they sacrifice friends, interest, and convenience. They put no faith in the proverb-" let well enough alone"-but are always ready to give up " well enough" in the desperate hope of getting something better. They must be in motion, and that motion is about as different from that of their Dutch ancestors as the motion of a duck pond on a calm day is from that of the rapids of Niagara. In business they are fickle to a degree that appears, and really is, heartless and unfeeling. They will give up a tradesman that has served them well and faithfully, and in whom they can place confidence, to run after some fresh

adventurer, of whom they know nothing. But this is the way all over the country; and a tradesman has in reality just as little consideration for his customers as his customers have for him. A man commences business in a small city; in the course of time forms acquaintance and connexions, and finds himself getting along, as he says, "as comfortably as he can wish," when suddenly he hears of some new lown that has sprung up in the wilderness, where they "are doing considerable of a business ;" and, without more to do, he sells off his stock, takes leave, without regret, of kind friends and familiar faces, and sets off to the land of promise to run a similar career. This is a national trait, and does not attach, with any peculiar force, to this city; but, for the love of change in their places of residence, the New-Yorkers are particularly famous. They never regard a house as a kind of inanimate friend-one who has protected them from cold, and rain, and tempest, and by whose hearth they have spent many happy hours, and enjoyed many comforts; but merely as a temporary covering, under whose roof it would be a sin, shame, and a folly to live two years in succession. Accordingly, on the first of May, when people all over the world are enjoying that charming season among fields and flowers, the sagacious

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