ristmas Woods, and transparent Marchpane
Castles--in short, the most wonderful and beautiful things of every
kind--are to be seen--by those who have the eyes to see them.

"So this is the end of the tale of Nutcracker and the King of the
Mice."

"Tell me, dear Lothair," said Theodore, "how you can call your
'Nutcracker and the King of the Mice' a children's story? It is
impossible that children should follow the delicate threads which run
through the structure of it, and hold together its apparently
heterogeneous parts. The most they could do would be to keep hold of
detached fragments, and enjoy those, here and there."

"And is that not enough?" answered Lothair. "I think it is a great
mistake to suppose that clever, imaginative children--and it is only
they who are in question here--should content themselves with the empty
nonsense which is so often set before them under the name of Children's
Tales. They want something much better; and it is surprising how much
they see and appreciate which escapes a good, honest, well-informed
papa. Before I read this story to you, I read it to the only sort of
audience whom I look upon as competent critics of it, to wit, my
sister's children. Fritz, who is a great soldier, was delighted with
his namesake's army, and the battle carried him away altogether. He
cried 'prr and poof, and schmetterdeng, and boom booroom,' after me, in
a ringing voice; jigged about on his chair, and cast an eye towards his
sword, as if he would go to Nutcracker's aid when he got into danger.
He had never read Shakespeare, or the recent newspaper accounts of
fighting; so that all the significance of the military strategy and
evolutions connected with that greatest of battles escaped him
completely, as well as 'A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!' And
in the same way dear little Eugenie thoroughly appreciated, in her kind
heart, Marie's regard for little Nutcracker, and was moved to tears
when she sacrificed her playthings and her picture-books--even her
little Christmas dress--to rescue her darling; and doubted not for a
moment as to the existence of the glittering Candy Mead on to which
Marie stepped from the neck of the mysterious fox-fur cloak in her
father's wardrobe. The account of Toyland delighted the children more
than I can tell."

"That part of your story," said Ottmar, "keeping in view the
circumstance that the readers or listeners are to be children, I think
the most successful. Th