[In the following excerpted anonymous review, the critic connects Henry Kingsley's writing to that of his older brother Charles, sarcastically commenting on the virtues of familial similarities of mind.]

Mr. Kingsley has a brother, and this brother has just published a novel. Of its literary merits, its plot, characters, and general worth, we intend to speak elsewhere. At present we merely notice it as a curious specimen of the way in which the big brother's influence tells in a family, and how cordially and completely the smaller brothers fit themselves into his groove. There is plenty of originality in Mr. Henry Kingsley's book—he takes us to new scenes, and writes with freshness and vigor. But he adopts in a simple, hearty way, the creed of the Rector of Eversley. He has no misgivings. He lays down as axiomatic all the old familiar tenets. His heroes are God-fearing men, accustomed to the prize ring, and combining the highest spiritual with the highest animal vigor. His heroines are dainty and high bred, and go daily through life, picking up God's buttercups from God's own greensward. The writer is wholly and humbly of his big brother's persuasion. He is troubled with no doubts, and is never tormented with the perplexing consideration, that in order to be a worthy disciple of this creed it is necessary, first, that you should be an Englishman possessed of a moderate competence, and secondly, that you should be at least five feet ten in your stockings. Perhaps a man under six feet one can be scarcely more than a proselyte of the Gate. It is true that into the metaphysical part of Mr. Kingsley's belief his brother does not follow him. There was a debating society once, in which it was a rule that any member who felt the discussion to be out of his line might retire to a corner and there drink whiskey and water. There are portions of Mr. Charles Kingsley's teaching which evidently drive Mr. Henry Kingsley into a mental corner. He does not care—he drinks his whiskey and water until his big brother is once more in his line. And when he finds he is again on the square, he drives along with a pleasant good-humored confidence in the truth of the established family doctrine that is almost touching.

We do not notice this with the very slightest wish to disparage the smaller and less known brother. The creed itself is a very good creed. We know of no objection to the plan of combining a thirst for salvation with the development of the fore-arm, except that its practical adoption is open to a rather limited portion of the human race. But, even if the creed were not so unobjectionable, there is no shame in a man's thinking as the clever one of his family thinks. It is very natural that families should think alike. They have been exposed to the same influences of training, tutoring, companionship, and scenery. They have known the same people and the same places at the period of life when impressions are made most deeply and permanently. It is no wonder that we often find the younger brother a repetition of the elder one. It is not that the young one has copied the elder, but the force of circumstances has cast them both into a certain mould, and the eldest brother has but brought out the pattern first, or the cleverest brother has but brought it out most prominently. Strangers regard the similarity with a certain amusement. It seems so funny to hear the old way of praising books, or women, or pictures trolled out in the treble of a junior. But close observers know that these common habits of speech and thought can be traced far back in the family annals, or are, at least, in a great measure, the product of the ways of life to which both brothers alike have been subjected. And if the imitation is more clearly and directly traceable, it is nothing to be ashamed of or to regret. A prophet cannot expect to have honor in his own country, but he must have some doubts of his mission if he can make no impression on his brothers and sisters. They know his character, and it is character that tells when a creed has to be inculcated. Nothing is more creditable to human nature than the way in which any superiority of character tells on all who come into habitual contact with it. Little brothers do not believe in their big brother because they think that his propositions are the correct deductions of an indisputable logic, but because he is such a fine fellow. The triumph of family persuasion is, in nine cases out of ten, the triumph of some sort of personal nobleness.

It is in every way desirable that, where a similarity of circumstances has paved the way for similarity in the manifestation of character, the influence of individual superiority should be strong. Sometimes, of course, the influence is not very favorable. The instances where it is positively bad are happily not very numerous, unless the family has been vitiated by exposure to the taint of an artificial and diseased society. But sometimes there appears in a family a run of sour and sodden virtues. The eldest brother is a prig, and the youngest is a sort of heaven-born prig—he carries the family type of bland, scholar-like, blissful inanity to such a prize-dahlia pitch of perfection. But, as a rule, the big brother has got something much better than this to show. It is his self-reliance, his having and knowing that he has something in him, that tells on the family circle. Mr. Kingsley is an instance. Those who most doubt his sense or taste must recognize in all his books the presence of a fine, manly feeling. There is no littleness in his writings. A brother predisposed by early associations to see things in the same way might very naturally and pardonably yield to the admiration excited by intimate association with so much that is straightforward and honorable. The similarity thus produced between two brothers, or two other near relations, often causes casual judges to do great injustice to the lesser one. They think that he is a mere feeble imitator, whereas it is one of the great bonds and props of family life that people who live together come naturally to look at things in the way in which the strongest and finest character has worked out the common family vein of thought. …

The certainty with which superiority and thoroughness of character will tell in family life ought to make the relations of the big members of the family to the little ones much simpler and pleasanter than they often are. Conscientious people are always worrying themselves about setting an example. The only example people ever really set is that exhibited by their being what they are. If men are honest and independent, those who live with them will know that they are, and will be impressed with that knowledge more or less deeply according to the differences of individual character. No piece of virtue can be more wholly superfluous, for example, than when a sleepy squire rolls himself to church on a hot afternoon, because it will be so good for the servants to fancy he likes going. They know all about it. They know he goes for their sake. They watch the interval of repose which he allows himself between the Creed and the singing. They notice the glisten in his eye when the benediction dismisses him to go and see how the young pheasants are getting on. So far as they are concerned, he might have spared himself the trouble of repairing to the sacred edifice. They will judge him and improve themselves according as they find him practically good or bad in matters where he is obliged to come before them. They can feel in a moment whether he is the sort of man that may be relied on at a pinch, and who will never cheat them, or shrink from the conflict when they try to cheat him. If he is worth looking up to, a big brother need never trouble himself to get the little brothers to look up to him. It will happen as a matter of course, and it would be a wretched world if it were not so. As the readers of Mr. Henry Kingsley's book smile at the odd, solemn, and almost unconscious way in which he preaches his brother's gospel, they may notice, in his pages, if they will but reflect, an illustration of one of the great cardinal principles that keeps society together, the principle that, where there is a similarity of circumstances, strength of character in one member of a group induces a general similarity of opinion.