instances; the point that concerns us is, that knowledge under such
circumstances being very intense, and the ease with which the result
is produced extreme, it eludes the conscious apprehension of the
performer himself, who only becomes conscious when a difficulty
arises which taxes even his abnormal power. Such a case, therefore,
confirms rather than militates against our opinion that consciousness
of knowledge vanishes on the knowledge becoming perfect--the only
difference between those possessed of any such remarkable special
power and the general run of people being, that the first are born
with such an unusual aptitude for their particular specialty that
they are able to dispense with all or nearly all the preliminary
exercise of their faculty, while the latter must exercise it for a
considerable time before they can get it to work smoothly and easily;
but in either case when once the knowledge is intense it is
unconscious.

Nor again would such an instance as that of Zerah Colburn warrant us
in believing that this white heat, as it were, of unconscious
knowledge can be attained by any one without his ever having been
originally cold. Young Colburn, for example, could not extract roots
when he was an embryo of three weeks' standing. It is true we can
seldom follow the process, but we know there must have been a time in
every case when even the desire for information or action had not
been kindled; the forgetfulness of effort on the part of those with
exceptional genius for a special subject is due to the smallness of
the effort necessary, so that it makes no impression upon the
individual himself, rather than to the absence of any effort at all.
{3}

It would, therefore, appear as though perfect knowledge and perfect