What I am reading in him meantime he also is reading in me; and before
the journey is over we could half write each other's lives. Whether we
like it or not, we live in glass houses. The mind, the memory, the
soul, is simply a vast chamber panelled with looking-glass. And upon
this miraculous arrangement and endowment depends the capacity of
mortal souls to "reflect the character of the Lord."
(2). But this is not all. If all these varied reflections from our
so-called secret life are patent to the world, how close the writing,
complete the record within the soul itself! For the influences we meet
are not simply held for a moment on the polished surface and thrown
off again into space. Each is retained where first it fell, and stored
up in the soul forever.