rywhere stirring the fires of revolution, driven from land to
land, both feared and persecuted, and often half famished. As Mr.
Spargo says:

It was the irony of life that the son, who kindled a mighty hope in the
hearts of unnumbered thousands of his fellow human beings, a hope that
is today inspiring millions of those who speak his name with reverence
and love, should be able to do that only by destroying his mother's
hope and happiness in her son, and that every step he took should fill
her heart with a great agony.

When young Marx grew out of boyhood into youth, he was attractive to
all those who met him. Tall, lithe, and graceful, he was so extremely
dark that his intimates called him "der neger"--"the negro." His
loosely tossing hair gave to him a still more exotic appearance; but
his eyes were true and frank, his nose denoted strength and character,
and his mouth was full of kindliness in its expression. His lineaments
were not those of the Jewish type.

Very late in life--he died in 1883--his hair and beard turned white,
but to the last his great mustache was drawn like a bar across his
face, remaining still as black as ink, and making his appearance very
striking. He was full of fun and gaiety. As was only natural, there
soon came into his life some one who learned to love him, and to whom,
in his turn, he gave a deep and unbroken affection.

There had come to Treves--which passed from France to Prussia with the
downfall of Napoleon--a Prussian nobleman, the Baron Ludwig von
Westphalen, holding the official title of "national adviser." The baron
was of Scottish extraction on his mother's side, being connected with
the ducal family of Argyll. He was a man of genuine rank, and might
have shown all the arrogance and superciliousness of the average
Prussian official; but when he became associated with Heinrich Marx he
evinced none of that condescending manner. The two men became firm
friends, and the baron treated the provincial lawyer as an equal.

The two families were on friendly terms. Von Westphalen's infant
daughter, who had the formidable name of Johanna Bertha Julie Jenny von
Westphalen, but who was usually spoken of as Jenny, became, in time, an
intimate of Sophie Marx. She was four years older than Karl, but the
two grew up together--he a high-spirited, manly boy, and she a lovely
and romantic girl.

The baron treated Karl as if the lad were a child of his own. He
influenced him to love romantic l