B. What! when I play at odd or even, have I a reason for choosing even rather than odd? A. Undoubtedly. B. And what is the reason, if you please? A. It is, that the idea of even is presented to your mind rather than the opposite idea. It would be extraordinary if there were cases in which we will because there is a motive, and others in which we will without one. When you would marry, you evidently perceive the predominant reason for it; you perceive it not when you play at odd or even, and yet there must be one. B. Therefore, once more, I am not free. A. Your will is not free, but your actions are. You are free to act when you have the power of acting. B. But all the books that I have read on the liberty of indifference-- A. What do you understand by the liberty of indifference? B. I understand spitting on the right or the left hand--sleeping on the right or left side--walking up and down four times or five. A. That would be a pleasant liberty, truly! God would have made you a fine present, much to boast of, certainly! What use to you would be a power which could only be exercised on such futile occasions? But in truth it is ridiculous to suppose the will of willing to spit on the right or left. Not only is the will of willing absurd, but it is certain that several little circumstances determine these acts which you call indifferent. You are no more free in these acts than in others. Yet you are free at all times, and in all places, when you can do what you wish to do. B. I suspect that you are right. I will think upon it. LIBERTY OF OPINION. Towards the year 1707, the time at which the English gained the battle of Saragossa, protected Portugal, and for some time gave a king to Spain, Lord Boldmind, a general officer who had been wounded, was at the waters of Barèges. He there met with Count Medroso, who having fallen from his horse behind the baggage, at a league and a half from the field of battle, also came to take the waters. He was a familiar of the Inquisition, while Lord Boldmind was only familiar in conversation. One day after their wine, he held this dialogue with Medroso: BOLDMIND. --You are then the sergeant of the Dominicans? You exercise a villainous trade. MEDROSO. --It is true; but I would rather be their servant than their victim, and I have preferred the unhappiness of burning my neighbor to that of being roasted myself. BOLDMIND. --What a horrible alternative! You were a hundred times happier under the yoke of the Moors, who freely suffered you to abide in all your superstitions, and conquerors as they were, arrogated not to themselves the strange right of sending souls to hell. MEDROSO.