Here, then, we have an instance of the way in which extremes meet. The old knight accepts his theory without one jot or tittle of evidence in its favour, and directly in the teeth of all that had ever been recorded of the Pyramids. It is a theory which allows at most seven years for their construction; and which supposes them to have been designed for a purpose which is flatly contradicted by their form, and by all that is seen of their exterior, and known of their interior; and, too, by the history itself. One grain of science of any kind in the old knight would have lost us the lesson to be drawn from his theory. What he did was to yield to what was to him a temptation. And this, and I say it with all due deference, is precisely what the Astronomer Royal for Scotland appears to have done. He, too, has yielded to a temptation. The old knight, five centuries and an half back, was tempted to find in these mighty monuments the Biblical narrative; and he found it. The modern Astronomer is tempted to find in them most unexpected and surprising indications, facts, and conclusions of profoundest science; and he finds them. Each was tempted after his kind. History, which had only an embryonic and potential existence in the time of the old knight, and which even now is only beginning to assume its proper form and lineaments, and to become a living thing with power to teach, to guide, and to save from error—formerly what was taken for history often only misled—would readily have enabled each of them to have escaped the temptation that was besetting him.