Mr. T. V. Wollaston on certain Musical Curculionide. 15 
of many creatures in concert; and on looking closer for the 
mysterious cause, he detected a specimen of Acalles, from which 
it was quite evident that a portion of the noise proceeded. On 
shaking the hollow stem, so as to arouse its inmates, and putting 
his ear alongside it, the whole plant appeared musical, as though 
enchanted ; and it was evident to him, therefore, that there were 
more of the performers within,—a conjecture which proved to be 
correct, for, on breaking open the branches, he captured nearly 
a dozen of them. 
No one who has studied the genus Acalles in a state of nature, 
particularly the comparatively gigantic forms of subaustral lati- 
tudes, and who has marked their dull, obscurely-variegated sur- 
faces and nodose bodies (often with such difficulty distinguished 
from the masses of lichen and wood to which they have chanced 
to adhere), as well as their singular mode of counterfeiting death, 
when disturbed, by contracting their legs under them, and ap- 
plying their head and rostrum so closely against their chest as 
to appear at first sight, even when thrown about, mere shapeless 
masses, motionless and inanimate,—can be surprised that an 
uneducated eye should have failed in perceiving at once the 
tenants of those stems, when first exposed to view: but natu- 
ralists who are acquainted with the species of this singular group 
would rather anticipate such a result as not only probable but 
almost certain. 
So pleased was I with the accomplishments of these anomalous 
musicians, when brought to me, that I felt quite a reluctance 
(even though an entomologist) to put them to death. I 
therefore made a compromise with my feelings, and killed only 
eight of them. The remaining three I kept alive for several 
weeks, and even took them to Madeira,—where, however, they 
unfortunately died (as I imagine, from hunger) just before em- 
barking for England. So long as they lived, however, it was 
a constant source of amusement to make these creatures stridu- 
late, or “ sing,” as it was usually called, which they would inva- 
riably do, for almost any length of time, when alarmed,—as, for 
instance, when held between the finger and thumb, and slightly 
pinched. In this manner I have had four of them chirping at 
a time; and so loud was the noise produced that it might be 
heard at the distance of many yards. 
It was some time before I was able to satisfy myself, not only 
as to the modus operandi of this proceeding, but even as to the 
exact region of the body from whence it emanated; for they 
would often stridulate when lying on their sides, with their limbs 
closely retracted and their head applied to their chest, and in 
fact whilst to all appearance perfectly passive and inanimate. 
Most Coleopterists are aware of the power possessed by many 
