April, 1848. PACHEEM. Ill 



supporting tree, which had long ago decayed away. From 

 the sides and summit of these, supple branches hung forth, 

 either leafy or naked ; the latter resembling cables flung 

 from one tree to another, swinging in the breeze, their 

 rocking motion increased by the weight of great bunches 

 of ferns or Orchids, which were perched aloft in the loops. 

 Perpetual moisture nourishes this dripping forest : and 

 pendulous mosses and lichens are met with in profusion. 



Two thousand feet higher up, near Mahaldiram (whence 

 the last view of the plains is gained), European plants 

 appear, — Berberry, Paris, &c. ; but here, night gathered 

 round, and I had still ten miles to go to the nearest bun- 

 galow, that of Pacheem. The road still led along the 

 eastern slope of the Balasun valley, which was exceedingly 

 steep, and so cut up by ravines, that it winds in and out 

 of gulleys almost narrow enough to be jumped across. 



It was very late before I arrived at Pacheem bungalow, 

 the most sinister-looking rest-house I ever saw, stuck on a 

 little cleared spur of the mountain, surrounded by dark 

 forests, overhanging a profound valley, and enveloped in 

 mists and rain, and hideous in architecture, being a miserable 

 attempt to unite the Swiss cottage with the suburban 

 gothic; — it combined a maximum of discomfort with a 

 minimum of good looks or good cheer. I was some time 

 in finding the dirty housekeeper, in an outhouse hard by, 

 and then in waking him. As he led me up the crazy 

 verandah, and into a broad ghostly room, without glass 

 in the windows, or fire, or any one comfort, my mind 

 recurred to the stories told of the horrors of the Hartz 

 forest, and of the benighted traveller's situation therein. 

 Cold sluggish beetles hung to the damp walls, — and these 

 I immediately secured. After due exertions and perse- 

 verance with the damp wood, a fire smoked lustily, and, by 



