‘The peasants,’ writes Donati to a friend, ‘had all fled from the neighbourhood, and did not venture to approach the crashing mountain within a distance of two Italian miles. The country around was covered with dust, which closely resembled ashes, and had been carried by the wind to a distance of five miles. I examined the dust, and found it to consist of pulverised marble. I also attentively observed the smoke, but could see no flames, nor could I perceive a sulphurous smell; the water also of the rivulets and sources showed no trace of sulphurous matter. This convinced me at once that no volcanic eruption was taking place, and penetrating into the cloud of dust which enveloped the mountain, I advanced close to the scene of the commotion. I there saw enormous rocks tumbling piecemeal into an abyss with a dreadful noise, louder than the rolling of thunder or the roar of heavy artillery, and distinctly saw that the smoke was nothing but the dust rising from their fall. ‘Further investigations also showed me the cause of the phenomenon, for I found the mountain to consist of horizontal strata, the lowest being composed of a loose stone of a slaty texture, while the upper ones, though of a more compact nature, were rent with numerous crevices. On the back of the mountain were three small lakes, the water of which, penetrating through the fissures of the strata, had gradually loosened their foundations. The snow, which had fallen during the previous winter more abundantly than had ever been known within the memory of man, hastened the progress of destruction, and caused the fall of six hundred million cubic feet of stone, which alone would have sufficed to form a great mountain. Six shepherds, as many houses, and a great number of cows and goats have been buried under the ruins. ‘In my report to the king I have accurately described the causes and effects of the catastrophe, and foretold its speedy termination—a prediction which has been fully verified by the event—and thus the new volcano has become extinct almost as soon as its formation was announced.’ Fortunately, this grand convulsion of nature, which spread consternation far and wide, caused the death of but a few victims. The landslip of the Rufi or Rossberg, which, on September 2, 1806, devastated the lovely Vale of Goldau, and overwhelmed four villages, with their rich pasture- grounds and gardens, was far more disastrous. The preceding years had been unusually wet, the filtering waters had loosened the Nagelfluh, or coarse conglomerate of which the mountain is composed, and the rains having latterly been almost continuous, a great part of the mountain, undermined by the subterranean action of the waters, at length gave way and was hurled into the valley below.