It was the night of a Leverett House dinner. A lonely Sophomore, not yet at home in his House, entered the Dining Room late, and seeing only one table empty, sat down-at the tutors' table. No sooner had he been served than the Faculty members came in, and filled the chairs on each side of him. Never in his life had he felt so out of place. But in an instant there was a friendly voice in his ear: "I don't believe I've met you. . . . This is Mr. Mayberry, Mr. Walcott, Mr. McHugh. . . ." The Sophomore turned to see who had spoken, and found beside him a little man, thin, sandy-haired, mustached. Kindly-faced and attentive, he spent the rest of the meal trying to make the Sophomore feel at home.

That was David W. Prall. Though one of the most brilliant of modern philosophers, he was first of all, to those who knew him, a wise, friendly man. Constantly his associates urged him to save his meager strength, but still he spent it profusely, in talking long into the evening with his tutees and fellow House members. More than most tutors, he knew his students. As President of the Teachers' Union, he always stood for close cooperation between students and those who worked most effectively to help the underprivileged. As a teacher, he added great lustre to this University. As a friend, living in our midst, he contributed an irrepressible warmth and a lasting inspiration.