Page 44 - Poetry-Country

Run through a sieve—the best to be bought—
Till you have of the sifted pumpkin a quart.

Oh, the “cripple-crown” hen will mourn today
For her rifled nest in the scented hay.

For ere your pumpkin pies you can bake
Out of her nest you must nine eggs take.

Beat yolks and whites in a separate dish
Till both are foamy and light as you wish.

White sugar, one cup and a half you take,
And two quarts of milk your pies to make.

Then of cinnamon, nutmeg, and mace, each one;
You take a teaspoonful ere you are done.

Next spices, sugar, eggs, pumpkin, and milk,
You must beat together till “smooth as silk”—

(That is the curious, homely phrase,
My grandmother used in those old-time days.)

Now a dozen of raisins, more or less,
To each pie will add flavor, you must confess.

The whole must be baked in a shell-like crust,
And, just as it hardens, with sugar you dust.

If you follow this rule, when done you’ll cry;
“Here’s a genuine, old-time pumpkin pie!”

—Lizzie M. Hadley (from a Victorian Scrap Album)

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