Harris was kindly assisting me to pass to the stage through the dark theatre, which I stopped at a room whence issued the sound of a soprano voice accompanied by a well-tuned instrument. I could not suppress the remark: "So that's where you keep the national piano!" The impertinence fairly roused the good Harris, who loved to call Drury Lane the "national" theatre; and still more raised his anger because the unseen player was rehearsing a Frenchman's opera, Frivoli, which was to occupy the stage at the end of the Rosa season.