Pioneering in the Southwest

p. 4An autobiographical sketch entitled “Forty-eight Years in the Ministry,” appeared in the issues of ‘The Baptist World” during the years of 1915-16. It was pleasing to quite a number of personal friends to express the hope that these sketches might find a more permanent form of publication than the files of a denominational paper. So insistent and frequent have been these requests that the author has concluded to heed them, and the following pages are, for the most part, but a reprint of these autobiographical sketches.

Seven years have now passed since the sketches appeared, and through the mercy of God, the writer is yet spared to engage in the activities of life, and the great work of the ministry, as pastor of a loving church. I am full of life and of a desire to live on. Life is sweet tome. I am by no means tired of it. Certainly I am anxious to behold the face of my Lord in the life beyond; but while I am spared here, I desire to serve him and my brethren, knowing that when I pass hence my term of earthly service, at least, will have closed.’

I am not conceited enough to imagine that a record of my life is demanded by the reading public generally. Yet I know some things about myself that no one else knows, and I have had some experiences that no one else has had, and I am persuaded that this record of them may prove of real benefit to some who may yet pass this way.

So, trusting that I may be spared to complete and publish this autobiography, I subscribe myself a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, and a lover of my brethren.

ADONIRAM JuDson HOLt.

Arcadia, Florida.

p. 6MY SYMPHONY My pathway through life hath been checkered By the lights and the shadows that fell, For sometimes I’ve been on the mountains, And sometimes deep down in the dell; My path hath been laid in sunshine and shade, In either, or neither, ’t was well. The friends of my life have been many, Of foes, only one in a while; But friends have been true and foes have been few, And friends always grew, and foes always flew, For I went with them that other mile. ‘The mistakes of my life have been many, Repentance has covered them under, Friends may have been blind but no one unkind; I everywhere find that men are inclined To forgive and forget e’en a blunder. I’m not now aweary of living Nor complain of the woes of to-day; For Jesus hath talked with me as I walked; His comforting grace never failed in the race, For he said: “I am with thee alway.” So I waft to thee, then, gentle reader, A message of tenderest love; For love is the power that shines every hour, And loses its light in the nevermore night Of the gladness and glory above.

p. 7Those who have read that most interesting work of Charles Dickens, “David Copperfield,” have found themselves charmed by the recital of the experiences of a boy. It is difficult for us to imagine that it was not the story of a real life. If such widespread interest can attach to an imaginary life, why may not the story of a real life be of interest and importance to the reader? Certainly this record is sadly lacking in the matchless style which the distinguished author of “David Copperfield” exhibited, but so far as the actual facts are concerned it is hoped this record will be of interest.

My maternal grandmother, Mrs. Polly Hampton Buckner, who had most to do with my early childhood, took great delight in telling me of many incidents of my babyhood. So vivid do these now appear to me that I find difficulty in distinguishing what I heard of myself and what I remember to have occurred.

They tell me that I was born in the “Red House,” the old home of my distinguished uncle, Dr. H. F. Buckner, on December 1, 1847. My father, Aaron Holt, was a Yankee schoolteacher, and my mother, Miriam Buckner Holt, was the eldest daughter of Elder Daniel Buckner, at that time pastor of the Baptist Church of Somerset, Kentucky. My second uncle, Bennett B. Buckner, went to the Mexican War, died, and was buried in Mexico. My youngest uncle, Robert Cook Buckner, who was fourteen years my senior, the founder and manager of the great Buckner Orphans’ Home, Dallas, Texas, has only recently entered the glorious beyond.

As both of my uncles and my grandfather were Baptist preachers, I was at an early age impressed with the thought that some day I also should be a Baptist preacher. It was at p. 8the suggestion of my Grandfather Buckner that I received the name of that distinguished missionary to Burmah, Adonirarm Judson. This great man was then living and in the meridian of his fame and usefulness. I recall how difficult it was for me to learn to pronounce my own name, and that of the county and town of my nativity. “Adoniram Judson Holt, born in Somerset, Pulaski County, Kentucky, December 1, 1847.” That was a tremendous mouthful for a “kid in kilts” to pro-. nounce.

p. 8.They tell me that I had a roving, restless disposition from the start; that before I could walk or crawl, I would roll, and at one time I actually rolled out of the door and down the great steps and landed “right side up, with care’’ out in the yard, to the great consternation of grandmother, who hastened to my rescue, only to find me uninjured.

When I began to crawl, I made another excursion, and during the brief absence of my grandmother, I crawled over the obstructions placed to restrain me, out of the door and by some unknown means scrambled down those steps, and away I went accompanied by “Doty,” my small dog. I crawled out of the yard, to the back of the garden, and tried to crawl through a crack in the fence. I turned my head and squeezed it through, but failed to get my body through the crack, and not having sense enough to turn my head sideways again to get back, there I stuck. The dog seeing my predicament scurried away to the house and began a furious barking which attracted the attention of grandmother. She at once missed me and was led by her apron held in the mouth of “Doty,” that faithful animal, to where I was caught in the crack of the fence fast asleep, but uninjured.