sure. I ask you the question,
Do you believe in heaven as a place of rewards? If so, the same
argument will prove the existence of hell. Do you reject hell, because
it seems to you to be inconceivable? Then the same argument will blot
heaven out of existence. What it is that awaits the wicked, I am sure
I do not know--only that it is to be away from God, with the door of
hope shut forever, and the Bible tells me that there is weeping and
wailing and gnashing of teeth, for the wicked shall not be unpunished.
I lift my voice against the punishment here, for sin is so sure in its
deadly work, it is so insidious in its influence, that before you know
it it is upon you; just one day of trifling and you are gone.

The people about Pittsburg will never forget the Cheswick mine horror
in 1903, when one hundred and eighty-two dead men were taken from the
mine. Under the direction of one of the mining engineers, a rescuing
party started into the mine to see if there was any hope of saving the
men who might be yet alive. The journey is described by one who
volunteered to go with the engineer on his perilous journey. "When we
got to the foot of the shaft, Mr. Taylor lighted a cigar. He blew out
a great cloud of smoke and watched it drift into a passage. 'This
way,' he said, 'The smoke will follow the pure air draught.' So we
went on, Mr. Taylor blowing clouds of smoke, and we following them.
Suddenly he wheeled and yelled; 'The black damp is coming!' The cigar
smoke had stopped as though it had come to a stone wall, and was now
drifting over our heads. We ran with death at our heels, ran with our
tongues dry and swelling and our eyes smarting like balls of fire. It
seemed only a minute until Mr. Taylor shrieked and fell forward on his
face. He crawled along for a while on his hands and knees, and then
fell again and lay still. I stopped for a second, with the idea of
carrying him. Then I realized how hopeless that was. We were still a
quarter of a mile from the mouth of the pit. He was a very heavy man,
and I, as you see, am small and weak. Again I ran choking and beating
my head with my hands. I fell, cut my face, called upon God, struggled
to my feet and fell again. So I plunged on, falling and fighting
forward. Black madness came upon me. The horrible, sickening
after-damp was tearing my heart up through my dry throat. My brain was
bursting through my temples. Then a stroke, as though by a sledge
hamme