THE WELL-INFORMED MAN.

"Arrias a tout lu, a tout vu, il veut le persuader ainsi; c'est an homme universel, et il se donne pour tel il aime mieux mentir que de se taire ou de paraitre ignorer quelque chose." - LA BRUYERE.

HAS it never been the reader's fortune to meet a man who tries to impress on others his familiarity with every topic under discussion? If such has never been the reader's fortune, he cannot have a very wide acquaintance in college, for there are shoals of men of this description here. One cannot detect them by their walk or their dress, but they betray themselves by their conversation.

It is a maxim with these well-informed men never to allow their friends to suppose that they are ignorant of anything. The other evening, when we were debating the authorship of "revenons a nos moutons," one of these gentlemen of wide reading smiled at our ignorance, and assured us Voltaire was the originator. When convinced, with difficulty, of his mistake, he says: "O yes, was thinking of something else; have read so much French since I came to college that I really can't remember everything."

Hardly any subject, from hydrostatics and dynamics to the last Jerome Park race, can be broached but he will discuss it with fluency and confidence. Whether he knows anything about the subject or not, he will do his best to impress his hearers with the breadth and depth of his information.

You may be speaking of your friend Brown, in San Francisco. "O yes," ejaculates the man of universal information, with the air of a person who has known Brown from boyhood, and has been on intimate terms with the Brown family for three generations. You question him closely, and he says he has not seen Brown for several years; does n't suppose he should recognize him now. When questioned more closely, he admits he does not know Brown personally, but has heard a great deal about him. This is what most of his intimate friendships amount to. But his conceit is impenetrable, and when his ignorance is revealed he bears the disclosure as calmly as if it were a confirmation of his statements.

His knowledge of books is as extensive as his knowledge of men. Mention a novel, an essay, or a poem, and he will tell you he found it rather dull; is surprised that you can wade through it. If you have read the book yourself you will discover, with the aid of a few questions, that he has never read anything in the book but the title. The trouble is, we are apt to be gulled by these impostors, and never think of putting them to a test. They are caught, however, in their own nets sometimes. The story is an old one, but nevertheless true, that in a certain Greek elective the instructor asked his pupils the color of the lions in Greece. One well-informed man said they were tawny, another maintained that they were black, and a third asserted with confidence that they were brown. "None of you are right," said the instructor. "There are no lions in Greece."

D.