—­I think I am a little superstitious.  There were two things, when I was a boy, that diabolized my imagination,—­I mean, that gave me a distinct apprehension of a formidable bodily shape which prowled round the neighborhood where I was born and bred.  The first was a series of marks called the “Devil’s footsteps.”  These were patches of sand in the pastures, where no grass grew, where the low-bush blackberry, the “dewberry,” as our Southern neighbors call it, in prettier and more Shakspearian language, did not spread its clinging creepers,—­where even the pale, dry, sadly-sweet “everlasting” could not grow, but all was bare and blasted.  The second was a mark in one of the public buildings near my home,—­the college dormitory named after a Colonial Governor.  I do not think many persons are aware of the existence of this mark,—­little having been said about the story in print, as it was considered very desirable, for the sake of the Institution, to hush it up.  In the northwest corner, and on the level of the third or fourth story, there are signs of a breach in the walls, mended pretty well, but not to be mistaken.  A considerable portion of that corner must have been carried away, from within outward.  It was an unpleasant affair; and I do not care to repeat the particulars; but some young men had been using sacred things in a profane and unlawful way, when the occurrence, which was variously explained, took place.  The story of the Appearance in the chamber was, I suppose, invented afterwards; but of the injury to the building there could be no question; and the zig-zag line, where the mortar is a little thicker than before, is still distinctly visible.  The queer burnt spots, called the “Devil’s footsteps,” had never attracted attention before this time, though there is no evidence that they had not existed previously, except that of the late Miss M., a “Goody,” so called, or sweeper, who was positive on the subject, but had a strange horror of referring to an affair of which she was thought to know something.—­I tell you it was not so pleasant for a little boy of impressible nature to go up to bed in an old gambrel-roofed house, with untenanted, locked upper-chambers, and a most ghostly garret,—­with the “Devil’s footsteps” in the fields behind the house and in front of it the patched dormitory where the unexplained occurrence had taken place which startled those godless youths at their mock devotions, so that one of them was epileptic from that day forward, and another, after a dreadful season of mental conflict, took holy orders and became renowned for his ascetic sanctity.