honourable president. What cries! what vociferations! What a succession
of groans, hurrahs, cheers, and all the onomatopoeia of which the
American language is so full. It was an indescribable hubbub and
disorder. Mouths, hands, and feet made as much noise as they could. All
the weapons in this artillery museum going off at once would not have
more violently agitated the waves of sound. That is not surprising;
there are cannoneers nearly as noisy as their cannons.

Barbicane remained calm amidst these enthusiastic clamours; perhaps he
again wished to address some words to his colleagues, for his gestures
asked for silence, and his fulminating bell exhausted itself in violent
detonations; it was not even heard. He was soon dragged from his chair,
carried in triumph, and from the hands of his faithful comrades he
passed into those of the no less excited crowd.

Nothing can astonish an American. It has often been repeated that the
word "impossible" is not French; the wrong dictionary must have been
taken by mistake. In America everything is easy, everything is simple,
and as to mechanical difficulties, they are dead before they are born.
Between the Barbicane project and its realisation not one true Yankee
would have allowed himself to see even the appearance of a difficulty.
As soon said as done.

The triumphant march of the president was prolonged during the evening.
A veritable torchlight procession--Irish, Germans, Frenchmen,
Scotchmen--all the heterogeneous individuals that compose the population
of Maryland--shouted in their maternal tongue, and the cheering was
unanimous.

Precisely as if she knew it was all about her, the moon shone out then