The novels of the last age have certainly not this fault. They do not err on the side of reticence. A girl may learn from them more than it is desirable for her to know. But, as we have explained, they were meant for men and not for girls; and if _Tristram Shandy_ had simply given a plain exposition of necessary facts—necessary, that is, to the development of the writer’s view of the world, and to the telling of the story in hand,—we should not have complained; we should have regarded it as the natural product of a now extinct society. But there are most unmistakable traces of ‘Crazy Castle’ in _Tristram Shandy_. There is indecency for indecency’s sake. It is made a sort of recurring and even permeating joke to mention things which are not generally mentioned. Sterne himself made a sort of defence, or rather denial, of this. He once asked a lady if she had read _Tristram_. ‘I have not, Mr. Sterne,’ was the answer; ‘and, to be plain with you, I am informed it is not proper for female perusal.’ ‘My dear good lady,’ said Sterne, ‘do not be gulled by such stories; the book is like your young heir there’ (pointing to a child of three years old who was rolling on the carpet in white tunics): ‘he shows at times a good deal that is usually concealed, but it is all in perfect innocence.’ But a perusal of _Tristram_ would not make good the plea. The unusual publicity of what is ordinarily imperceptible is not the thoughtless accident of amusing play; it is deliberately sought after as a nice joke; it is treated as a good in itself.