In 1799 the house was occupied by Doctor Caspar Wistar, the eminent anatomist, known to the élite of the city and nation for his brilliant social gatherings and as the man for whom that beautiful climbing plant, the Wistaria, was named. Doctor Wistar's geniality, magnetism, intellectual leadership and generous hospitality made his home a gathering place for the most distinguished personages of his day in the professions, arts, sciences, letters and politics. Since he held a chair at the University of Pennsylvania and carried on an extensive private practice, the demands upon his time were great, but Sunday evenings, and later on Saturday evenings, he was at home to his friends, who formed the habit of calling regularly in numbers from ten to fifty and often bringing new-found friends, sure of a hearty welcome, brilliant conversation and choice refreshments. And so began one of the cherished institutions of Philadelphia, the Wistar Parties, which were continued after the doctor's death in 1818 by Wistar's friends and their descendants. The Civil War brought an interruption, but in 1886 the gatherings were again resumed; few of the distinguished visitors to the city failed to be[48] invited to attend, and, having attended, to praise most highly the exceptional hospitality shown them. During Doctor Wistar's lifetime the personnel of the parties gradually became substantially the membership of that world-famous scientific organization, the Philosophical Society, and later membership in that society became requisite to eligibility for the Wistar Parties.
By far the handsomest old city residence of brick that remains in anything like its original condition is the so-called Morris house at Number 225 South Eighth Street between Walnut and Spruce streets. Although not built until very shortly after the struggle for American independence had been won, it is pre-Revolutionary in character and Colonial in style throughout. In elegance and distinction the façade is unexcelled in early American city architecture. Unlike most houses of the time and locality, it has a double front with two windows each side of a central doorway, a range of five windows on the second and third floors and three simple dormers in the gable roof above. The windows have twelve-paned upper and lower sashes with paneled shutters on the first and second stories, and foreshortened eight-paned upper and lower sashes without shutters on the third story.
The brickwork is of characteristic Flemish bond with alternating red stretcher and black header bricks. Two slightly projecting courses, two courses[49] apart, form horizontal belts at the second-and third-floor levels, while the first thirteen courses above the sidewalk level project somewhat beyond the wall above and are laid up in running bond, every sixth course being a tie course of headers. Beautifully tooled, light stone lintels with fine-scale radial scorings greatly enhance the beauty of the fenestration. Each lintel appears to consist of seven gauged or keyed pieces each, but is in reality a single stone, the effect being secured by deep scorings. A heavy molded cornice and handsome gutter spouts complete the decorative features apart from the chaste pedimental doorway with its fluted pilasters and dainty fanlight, which is mentioned again in another chapter. A rolling way and areaways at the basement windows pierce the wall at the sidewalk level after the manner of the time. Indoors, the hall extends entirely through the house to a door in the rear opening upon a box-bordered garden with rose trees and old-fashioned flowers. There is a parlor on the right of the hall and a library on the left. Back of the latter is the dining room, while the kitchen and service portion of the house are located in an L extension to the rear.
As indicated by two marble date stones set in the third-story front wall just below the cornice, this house was begun in 1786 and finished in 1787 by John Reynolds. Some years later it was purchased at a sheriff's sale by Ann Dunkin, who sold it in[50] 1817 to Luke Wistar Morris, the son of Captain Samuel Morris. Since that time it has remained in the Morris family, and its occupants have maintained it in splendid condition. Much beautiful old furniture, silver and china adorn the interior, most of the pieces having individual histories of interest; in fact, the place has become a veritable museum of Morris and Wistar heirlooms. Within a few years the two old buildings that formerly adjoined the house to the right and left were removed so that the house now stands alone with a garden space at each side behind a handsome wrought-iron fence.
An enthusiastic horseman and sportsman, Samuel Morris was until his death in 1812 president of the Gloucester Fox Hunting Club in which originated in November, 1774, the Philadelphia Troop of Light Horse, better known as the City Troop, the oldest military organization in the United States. In 1775 Morris was a member of the Committee of Safety, and throughout the Revolution he served as captain of the City Troop and as a special agent for Washington, in whose esteem he stood high. Later he was a justice of the peace and a member of the Pennsylvania assembly from 1781 to 1783. A handsome china punch bowl presented to Captain Samuel Morris by the members of the Gloucester Fox Hunting Club is one of the most prized possessions in the Morris house.[51]
Any book devoted to the Colonial houses of Philadelphia might perhaps be considered incomplete that failed to include the quaint little two and a half story building at Number 229 Arch Street, with its tiny store on the street floor and dwelling on the floors above. Devoid of all architectural pretension and showing the decay of passing years, it is nevertheless typical of the modest shop and house of its day, and it interests the visitor still more as the home of Betsy Ross, who for many years was popularly supposed to have made the first American flag. Betsy Ross was the widow of John Ross, a nephew of one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, who had conducted an upholsterer's business in the little shop. For a time after his death she supported herself as a lace cleaner and by continuing the business of her husband.
The romantic tradition goes, unsupported by official record, that, Congress having voted in June, 1777, for a flag of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white, with thirteen white stars in a blue field, the committee in charge consulted with Washington, then in Philadelphia, concerning the matter. Knowing Mrs. Ross, Washington led the way to her house and explained their mission. In her little shop under their eyes she cut and stitched together cloths of the three colors we love so well and soon produced the first version of the Stars and Stripes.[52]
The tale is a pretty one, and it is a pity that it should not be based on some good foundation, especially as the records show that subsequently Betsy Ross did make numerous flags for the government. How the story started is unknown, but none of the historians who have given the matter any attention believe it. John H. Flow in "The True Story of the American Flag" condemns it utterly, and the United States Government refused to adopt the Betsy Ross house as a national monument after a thorough investigation. Notwithstanding the facts, however, this ancient little building still continues to be a place of interest to many tourists every year.
