There are some secret moving springs in the affections which, when they are set agoing by some object in view, or be it some object, though not in view, yet rendered present to the mind by the power of imagination, that motion carries out the soul by its impetuosity to such violent, eager embracings of the object, that the absence of it is insupportable. Such were these earnest wishings that but one man had been saved! “Oh that it had been but one!” I believe I repeated the words, “Oh that it had