The Chairman:  We had hoped to receive to-day the greetings of our sole elder sister among American institutions, the Pennsylvania Hospital, of Philadelphia, which since its foundation in 1751 has pursued a career much like our own, treating mental cases in the general hospital from the very beginning, and since 1841 maintaining a separate department for mental diseases in West Philadelphia.  Dr. Owen Copp, the masterly physician-in-chief and administrator of that department, was to have been here, but unfortunately has been detained.  Our morning exercises having come to an end, Dr. Russell asks me to say that your inspection of the occupational buildings and other departments of the Hospital is cordially invited; a pageant illustrative of the origin and aspirations of the Hospital will be given on the adjoining lawn; and that after the pageant our guests are desired to return to the Assembly Hall, where we shall have the privilege of listening to addresses by Dr. Richard G. Rows, of London, and Dr. Pierre Janet, of Paris, who have come across the Atlantic especially to take part in this anniversary celebration.

ADDRESS BY DR. GEORGE D. STEWART

[Illustration:  BLOOMINGDALE ASYLUM

As it appeared in 1894 when it was discontinued and replaced by Bloomingdale Hospital at White Plains, New York.]

AFTERNOON SESSION

The Chairman:  For the first seventy-five years of its existence the New York Hospital was the nearest approach to an academy of medicine that the city possessed.  When the now famous New York Academy of Medicine was established in 1847, a friendly and cordial co-operation between the two institutions arose, and while the activity of this co-operation is not as pronounced as it was, we still cherish in our hearts a warm regard for that ancient ally in the cause of humanity.  Its President, Dr. George D. Stewart, the distinguished surgeon, has come to extend the greetings of the medical profession of New York City.

DR. STEWART

The emotions that attend the birthday celebrations of an individual are often a mixture of joy and sadness, of laughter and of tears.  In warm and imaginative youth there is no sadness and there are no tears, because that cognizance of the common end which is woven into the very warp and woof of existence is then buried deep in our subconscious natures, or if it impresses itself at all, is too volatile and fleeting to be remembered.  But as the years fall away and there is one less spring to flower and green, the serious man “tangled for the present in some parcels of fibrin, albumin, and phosphates” looks forward and backward and takes in both this world and the next.  In the case of institutions, however, the sadness and the tears do not obtain—­for a century of anniversaries may merely mean dignified maturity, as in the case of Bloomingdale, with no hint of the senility and decay that must come to the individual who has lived so long.  This institution was founded one hundred years ago to-day; the parent, the New York Hospital, has a longer history.  Bloomingdale, as a separate and independent concern, had its birthday a century ago.