One letter from John tells George to take financial reverses as coolly as possible, considering he had done his best. Another, declining an invitation to come to Kentucky, says, “You will perceive that it is quite out of my interest to come to America. What could I do there? How could I employ myself, out of the reach of libraries?” And thus he counsels George: “Be careful of those Americans. I could almost advise you to come, whenever you have the sum of five hundred pounds, to England. Those Americans will, I am afraid, still fleece you.” In a letter to George’s wife in January, 1820, he speaks of his wish to cross the sea with his brother: “I could almost promise you that if I had the means I would accompany George back to America, and pay you a visit of a few months.” Had he made the trip and beheld with his own eyes the loveliness of the Ohio Valley, and met the kindly people of Kentucky, he would not have been so inclined to disparage Louisville society: “I was surprised to hear of the state of society at Louisville: it seems you are just as ridiculous there as we are here--threepenny parties, halfpenny dances. The best thing I have heard of is your shooting, for it seems you follow the gun.” [Illustration: THE KEATS HOUSE (THE ELKS BUILDING).] A terrible tragedy occurred at the Keats mansion, back in the forties, about which there is a pathetic tradition. Isabella, the beautiful young daughter of George Keats, according to tradition, killed herself in a fit of despondency at the unhappy termination of a love-affair. A circumstance said to have taken place in 1890 seemed to substantiate the tradition. An elderly, refined-looking and quiet stranger appeared repeatedly at the Keats house and requested to be left alone in the library, where the girl was shot. At first he offered no explanation of his unusual request, but when finally leaving he said to the lady who had admitted him, “I parted from her in there, and have returned from California to visit the scene once more.” The rumor was soon circulated that the mysterious stranger was the lover whose unfaithfulness had robbed the unhappy girl of the desire to live. The descendants of George Keats still living in Louisville deny the pathetic story throughout. They affirm that the girl was heartwhole and free from any morbid tendencies. Their version of the tragedy is substantially as follows: Isabella’s brother Clarence had been out hunting in the vicinity of the city, and, returning home, carelessly left his gun on a sofa in the darkened library. Isabella shortly afterward went into the room to lie down, and, not seeing the loaded weapon, struck the trigger in such a way with her foot that the contents were discharged, mortally wounding her. [Illustration: THE COURT-HOUSE.]