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  Dear Bee

My sister told me at breakfast to say to you she would be happy to have you come over Saturday p m & spend the night, & take a ride Sunday, if agreeable to you—

Bee I have been thinking much the few hours past of what Mr Eldridge told me of a young Mrs Needham (an intimate friend of my Washington friends, & two years ago a fine healthy woman of 26) who too overwhelmingly swamped herself as a student at your Phila:​ medical school, a year & a half since (crowding too much & too intense study into too short a time) resulting in terrible brain troubles & a general caving in, & now   (as Mr E told me last night on our journey down) of death lately in a lunatic asylum—just from sheer overwork, & too intense concentration, ardor, & continued strain

—My own trouble is an illustration of the same danger, & I feel peculiarly sensible of it in others near to me—

Always yours Walt Whitman

I shall be over at ½ past 5