The "Letters from a Little Garden" were published in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ between November 1884 and February 1885, and as they, as well as "Mary's Meadow," were due to the interest which my sister was taking in the tending of her own Earthly Paradise,--they are inserted in this volume, although they were left unfinished when the writer was called away to be "Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!" HORATIA K.F. EDEN. _December, 1895._ * * * * * NOTE.--If any readers of "Mary's Meadow" have been as completely puzzled as the writer was by the title of John Parkinson's old book, it may interest them to know that the question has been raised and answered in _Notes and Queries_. I first saw the _Paradisi in sole Paradisus terrestris_ at Kew, some years ago, and was much bewitched by its quaint charm. I grieve to say that I do not possess it; but an old friend and florist--the Rev. H.T. Ellacombe--was good enough to lend me his copy for reference, and to him I wrote for the meaning of the title. But his scholarship, and that of other learned friends, was quite at fault. My old friend's youthful energies (he will permit me to say that he is ninety-four) were not satisfied to rust in ignorance, and he wrote to _Notes and Queries_ on the subject, and has been twice answered. It is an absurd play upon words, after the fashion of John Parkinson's day. Paradise, as _Aunt Judy's_ readers may know, is originally an Eastern word, meaning a park, or pleasure-ground. I am ashamed to say that the knowledge of this fact did not help me to the pun. _Paradisi in sole Paradisus terrestris_ means Park--in--son's Earthly Paradise! J.H.E., _February 1884._ * * * * * How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are Thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown; Where they together All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown. * * * * * O that I once past changing were, Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither! Many a spring I shoot up fair, Offering at heaven, growing and groaning thither; Nor doth my flower Want a spring-shower, My sins and I joining together. * * * * *