Apropos of personification—a curious little pamphlet, of a dozen pages only, but containing some ingenious turns of fancy, was printed by Dove, in 1828, from the pen of a Mr. K——, a gentleman of refined taste in various matters of art and literature. It is entitled, “Carluccio and Signora Violina; a musical _jeu d’esprit_ for the benefit of Violinists, in the manner of Lucian;” and it consists of a sort of dialogue between a lover and his mistress—the latter being represented by the Violin. In assigning the feminine gender to the instrument, the author thus accounts for the innovation he has hazarded:—“We have _Viola_ in Shakspeare, and _Viola_ in music. Why not, then, _Violina_—especially as her voice is treble?” Sit juvenis quondam, nunc fæmina.—_Virg._ To the foregoing hints on distinctive peculiarities among the Fiddle tribe, I am tempted to add a few words about the two extremes that constitute, respectively, the _giant_ and the _dwarf_ of the race; namely, the _double-bass_ (or _contra-basso_) and the _kit_. The former of these, then—the double-bass—is a fellow of imposing appearance, with the weight and strength of an Ajax, and a voice that you might conceive him to have borrowed from a thunder-cloud. In the assembled circle, he is dogmatical, slow, and heavy; yet one is forced to confess that there is a _depth_ in all he utters, and that what he wants in brilliancy, is amply made up in profundity. He hears the _flourishes_ of those around him, but seems to take little heed of them—and sometimes makes a solemn pause, as if in meditation, while the rest are chattering away. His manner, even when he perfectly _agrees_ with what is advanced by others, has a bluffness in it, that is not _very_ unlike _dissent_. His arguments are of the sledge-hammer kind, knocking down contradiction. He is the Doctor Johnson of the society—he settles matters with a _growl_. With all his surliness, however, he is a thoroughly good fellow at bottom, and, as he is well-understood, and pretty much humoured, by his associates, the general harmony is none the worse for his presence—nay, rather, would be very sensibly subtracted from, were he absent.—As for the _kit_, he is a pert little whipper-snapper, with a voice as _uppish_ as his notions of _himself_, and a figure _any thing_ but _symmetrical_, since it is, at once, by an odd contrariety, stunted in height, and lanky in appearance. He is hardly ever seen in the company of his own kith and kin, his own fraternity of the larger growth—for his vanity leads him to seek distinction on _any_ terms, and so he goes into dancing academies, or among family step-hop-and-jump-learners, where he is a sort of cock-of-the-walk, and where, to judge from the quaint and abruptly intermitted strains that proceed from him, he seems to crow and chuckle at the absurdities of the “awkward squad” whom he delights to set in motion. As he is prone to imitation, and proud of his squeaking voice, you will sometimes hear him