Alas! my dear Albert, how rare is true and sincere friendship; this observation will frequently occur to you, in journeying through the varied scenes of this bustling world; may you my friend enjoy its purest blessings. I have endeavoured in the following short sketch, which I beg your acceptance of, to depicture the true character of a man worthy the name of a real friend. Octavius was born of respectable, tho’ not wealthy parents: having in them the brightest examples, and being naturally of a kind and obedient disposition, could not fail of imbibing those good precepts, they were ever anxious to instill into his youthful bosom: his assiduity in business, and prompt attentions to the Duties of his Office, soon advanced him far above even a medium station in the world.

Octavious was one of those favoured few; possessed of a considerable share of the milk of human kindness: and which indeed flowed so liberally within his youthful breast; that in him the friendless and unfortunate was sure to find a sympathising heart: a comforter in sorrow and affliction. Unrequited friendship had often involved his feeling heart into the most bitter and poignant grief; for what can be more distressing than to observe in beings who have shared our comforts when in sorrow; and accepted freely of our profered services; than that unpardonable crime ingratitude; yet how many of its votaries do we constantly find, floating up and down the world, forgetful of benefits conferred.

It was truly observed that friendship is a medicine for misfortune, but ingratitude dries up the fountain of all goodness.

Octavious's just and feeling arguments, are such as cannot but be greatly admired and must forcibly strike the attention of every observant reader, it would be well if they were securely treasured up in our hearts, that when we see a fellow creature in sorrow and distress, instead of witholding our hands from acts of generosity, and fondly acquiring within ourselves the probability of the unworthiness of the man we might say with Octavious, for what end are we born, why is the power of doing good placed within our reach, are we individually more worthy of this worlds good than those who implore our assistance: or those still more lowly who hover round us like the fowls of heaven, and ask their humble dole?…