"Beyond the East the sunrise, Beyond the West the sea, And the East and West the _Wanderlust_ That will not let me be." While Flynt had most of the appetites, good and bad, possible to man, he was not a weak man, but a physically selfish one, strong in his determination to "enjoy." Condemned to an early death by the excessive use of stimulants, he agreed to write his "Life," did so, and then shut himself in his room in Chicago, to pass out--unafraid, unaccompanied, uncontrolled--a characteristic ending! That Josiah Flynt has started on his long journey, that this world will see him no more, is impossible for his near friends to realize, so accustomed are they to his periodical disappearances and his unfailing return to their midst. He who preferred the byways, the crooked winding paths, has at last struck the broad, straight road where there is no turning back. It is he who must wait for us now, as we push on, with his cheerful "Good luck! Be good! Don't forget me!" ringing in our ears, and in our hearts Stevenson's words: "He is not dead, this friend, not dead, But in the path we mortals tread, Got some few trifling steps ahead, And nearer to the end, So that you, too, once past the bend, Shall meet again, as, face to face, this friend You fancy dead.... "Push gaily on, strong heart! The while You travel forward, mile by mile, Till you can overtake, He strains his eyes to search his wake, Or, whistling as he sees you through the break, Waits on the stile." (R. L. S.) Flynt often talked of his death after disease fastened upon him, but always with an inconsequence as to what lay beyond the grave--not bravado, but the philosopher's acquiescence to the inevitable, whatever it be. He had great faith in the loyalty of friends who might survive him. "So-and-so will speak a good word for me, I know!" he would say. Separation, by geographical distances, never bothered him, yet he wrote but few letters. He seemed to get satisfaction out of his belief that he and his nearest friends communicated by thought transference: "The wires are always up!" Doubtless he passed out with the conviction that this would continue. The man's spirit remained childlike in its tender, confiding quality, and pure, in spite of the fact that he dragged his poor body through the mire of life. His generous nature and faithful friendship have set in motion currents which are eternal. A FINAL WORD[2] BY BANNISTER MERWIN To complete the story of Josiah Flynt's life is not an easy task. His later years were lived in the open, it is true, and the details of his movements were, in every case, known to at least one of his friends; but his own love of mystery and the delight that he found in mystifying others led him to conceal from one friend what he freely told to the next.