He died unattended by a minister of the gospel, but his last words were an humble submission to the will of God, in whom he believed. He was reconciled to the cruel fate to which an assassin’s bullet had condemned him, and faced death in the same spirit of calmness and poise which has marked his long and honorable career. His last conscious words, reduced to writing by Dr. Mann, who stood at his bedside when they were uttered, were as follows: “Good-by, all; good-by. It is God’s way. His will be done, not ours.” His relatives and the members of his official family were at the Milburn house, except Secretary Wilson, who did not avail himself of the opportunity and some of his personal and political friends took leave of him. This painful ceremony was simple. His friends came to the door of the sick room, took a longing glance at him and turned tearfully away. He was practically unconscious during this time, but the powerful heart stimulants, including oxygen, were employed to restore him to consciousness for his final parting with his wife. He asked for her and she sat at his side and held his hand. He consoled her and bade her good-by. She went through the heart-trying scene with the same bravery and fortitude with which she had borne the grief of the tragedy which ended his life. That last day on earth had tried him severely. He had commenced wearing away a little before 3 o’clock Friday morning. Throughout the day and evening the expectations of attendants, physicians and friends oscillated as a pendulum between hope and despair. Hopeless bulletins followed encouraging reports from the sick room, and they in turn gave way to recurrent hope. The truth was too evident to be passed over or concealed. The President’s life was hanging in the balance. The watchers felt that at any moment might come the announcement of a change which would foreshadow the end. When it was learned that the President was taking small quantities of nourishment hope rose that he would pass the crisis in safety. Everybody knew, though—and no attempt was made to conceal it—that the coming night would in all human probability be his last on earth. It was known that he was being kept alive by the strongest of heart stimulants, and that the physicians had obtained a supply of oxygen to be administered if the worse came. During the day President McKinley was conscious when he was not sleeping. Early in the morning when he awoke he looked out of the window and saw that the sky was overcast with heavy clouds. “It is not so bright as it was yesterday,” said he. His eyes then caught the waving branches of the trees, glistening with rain, and their bright green evidently made an agreeable impression upon him. “It is pleasant to see them,” said he, feebly.