Gabriel Wells
It is not so very long ago that Mr. Wells did not occupy his palatial suite on Fifth Avenue, and the enthusiasm he then had for his books and for their authors is his today. Fine sets of well-known authors and also of the minor lights, are his specialties. Printed on beautiful papers, wonderfully bound, marvelously extra-illustrated, inscribed by their authors, they are there on his shelves. They seem alive, they seem to talk to you, they seem to smile to you a welcome—if Mr. Wells feels you a friend, a brother lover of books. The whole world knows about Mr. Wells’ beautiful sets of books, and whoever wants a rare, unusual edition comes to Mr. Wells, or writes to him, or wires to him, or cables to him, dealers as well as private buyers. And if he has time, he may ask you to view the original manuscript of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “New Arabian Nights,” or of Victor Hugo’s “Ninety Three.” Or he will show you a bundle of letters written by Thomas Payne, the draft of a speech in Lincoln’s own hand ... he could fill a museum with the material wrapped up in his safe. And the most delightful thing is the free air of hospitality in his den. I don’t know another place where one can lounge around more comfortably ... and not to forget his assistant, Mr. Royce, the Balzac enthusiast, who compiled the only Balzac bibliography in existence.