He was not a believer in sortilege.  If the text he had chanced upon had been ever so applicable to his own condition, it would have made but little impression upon him, and this was not very pertinent in its application.  He was by no means without hope.  He had come to Plymouth full of hope, though disappointed at its not having been already exchanged for certainty.  He had good hope of inspiring John Trevethick with confidence in his social position, and consequently of obtaining his consent to marry the woman who had now become indispensable to his happiness.  He had even some hope of yet inheriting a portion of his father’s great estate.  He could not be accused of spiritual ambition.  Any other sort of hope than that of being in a position to enjoy himself thoroughly had never entered into his mind.  Just now, however, he was far from enjoying himself; he was a prey to anxiety, and any opportunity of forgetting it was welcome to him.  Not without an effort to be interested, therefore, he reflected upon these words, which seemed rather to have been spoken in his ear aloud than merely to have caught his eye.  He had already shut the book with contemptuous impatience, but he found himself, nevertheless, repeating:  “Having no hope, and without God in the world,” and pondering upon their meaning.  He wondered at himself for taking the trouble to do so; but if he didn’t do that, his thoughts would, he knew, be even less pleasantly occupied; so he let them slip into this novel channel.  How could a man be without God in the world, if God was every where? as he had somewhere seen or heard stated, and which he believed to be the fact.  It was one of the objections against the Bible, was his peevish reflection, that it was self-contradictory in its assertions, and unmistakably distinct only in its denunciations of wrath.  Here was a case in point, and one which might justly be “taken up” by a fellow, if it was worth while.  As for himself, he was no skeptic.  Exeter Hall might have clasped him to her breast (and would) upon that ground.  He was accustomed to use the name of the Creator whenever he wished to be particularly decisive; but for any other purpose he had never named it with his lips.  Even as a child, his mother had never taught him to do so.  She had never spoken to him on religious subjects except in humorous connection with the Heads of the two Churches to which her first husband had belonged—­Emanuel Swedenborg and Joanna Southcott.  If the expression “without God in the world” meant the living in it without the practice of religion, it certainly did have an application to himself, but also to every one else with whom he was acquainted.  Of course he had known people who went to church—­young men of his own age, whom their parents compelled to do so, and who envied him the liberty he enjoyed in that respect; and the poor folks at Gethin went to chapel.  But, even, there, shrewd fellows like Trevethick and Solomon did not trouble themselves to do so.  True,