Have been reading Daudet's Letters from My Windmill (Lettres de mon moulin) , intermittently, between bigger bites of Herbert's prose, ever since I discovered him in Flaubert's Parrot and downloaded his Mill from Project Gutenberg. IMHO "Monsieur Seguin's Last Kid Goat" has an interesting beginning: To Pierre Gringoire, lyrical poet, Paris. You'll never get anywhere, Gringoire! I can't believe it! A good newspaper in Paris offers you a job as a critic and you have the brass neck to turn it down. Look at yourself, old friend. Look at the holes in your doublet, your worn-out stockings, and your pinched face which betrays your hunger. Look where your passion for poetry has got you! See how much you have been valued for your ten years writing for the gods. What price pride, after all? Take the job, you idiot, become a critic! You'll get money, you'll have your reserved table in Brebant's, you will be seen at premieres,