at all, for if we come upon a word misspelt our attention is at once
aroused; unless, indeed, we have actually corrected the misspelling,
as well as noticed it, unconsciously, through exceeding familiarity
with the way in which it ought to be spelt. Not only do we perceive
the letters we have seen without noticing that we have perceived
them, but we find it almost impossible to notice that we notice them
when we have once learnt to read fluently. To try to do so puts us
out, and prevents our being able to read. We may even go so far as
to say that if a man can attend to the individual characters, it is a
sign that he cannot yet read fluently. If we know how to read well,
we are as unconscious of the means and processes whereby we attain
the desired result as we are about the growth of our hair or the
circulation of our blood. So that here again it would seem that we
only know what we know still to some extent imperfectly, and that
what we know thoroughly escapes our conscious perception though none
the less actually perceived. Our perception in fact passes into a
latent stage, as also our memory and volition.

Walking is another example of the rapid exercise of volition with but
little perception of each individual act of exercise. We notice any
obstacle in our path, but it is plain we do not notice that we
perceive much that we have nevertheless been perceiving; for if a man
goes down a lane by night he will stumble over many things which he
would have avoided by day, although he would not have noticed them.
Yet time was when walking was to each one of us a new and arduous
task--as arduous as we should now find it to wheel a wheelbarrow on a
tight-rope; whereas, at present, though we can think of our steps to
a certain extent without checking our power to walk, we certainly
cannot consider our muscular action in detail without having to come
to a dead stop.