he
combat of a human life against its natural destiny; we perceive that
the woman has a chance of winning; we are happy when she wins; and we
are the better for helping her with our sympathy in the struggle.
That is why, using the word in the Aristotelian sense, I maintain that
_Esther Waters_ is a more "philosophical" work than _Tess_.

The atmosphere of the low-class gambling in which Mr. Moore's
characters breathe and live is no doubt a result of his careful study
of Zola. It is, as everyone knows, M. Zola's habit to take one of the
many pursuits of men--from War and Religion down to Haberdashery and
Veterinary Surgery--and expand it into an atmosphere for a novel. But
in Mr. Moore's case it may safely be urged that gambling on racehorses
actually is the atmosphere in which a million or two of Londoners pass
their lives. Their hopes, their very chances of a satisfying meal,
hang from day to day on the performances of horses they have never
seen. I cannot profess to judge with what accuracy Mr. Moore has
reproduced the niceties of handicapping, bookmaking, place-betting,
and the rest, the fluctuations of the gambling market, and their
causes. I gather that extraordinary care has been bestowed upon these
details; but criticism here must be left to experts, I only know that,
not once or twice only in the course of his narrative, Mr. Moore
makes us study the odds against a horse almost as eagerly as if it
carried our own money: because it does indeed carry for a while the
destiny of Esther Waters--and yet for a while only. We feel that,
whichever horse wins the ultimate issues are inevitable.

It will be gathered from what I have said that Mr. Moore has vastly
outstripped his own public form, even as shown in _A Mummer's Wife_.
But it may be as well to set down, beyond possibility of
misapprehension, my belief that in _Esther Waters_ we have the most
artistic, the most complete, and the most inevitable work of fiction
that has been written in England for at least two years. Its plainness
of speech may offend many. It may not be a favorite in the circulating
libraries or on the bookstalls. But I shall be surprised if it fails
of the place I predict for it in the esteem of those who know the true
aims of fiction and respect the conscientious practice of that great
art.

MRS. MARGARET L. WOODS

Nov. 28, 1891. "Esther Vanhomrigh."

Among considerable novelists who have handled historical
subjects--that is to s