Chrichton’s in learning, felt the keenness of his criticism. He was by no means a second Solomon in wisdom, but had a tolerable share of wit occasionally. His visitors were many, indeed it would fill a volume to recount their names. He was asked once by a visitor if he might light his pipe; “No,” said Thomas, “but you may light what’s in your pipe.” “Were you ever drunk, Mr Raeburn,” said a rather rude customer one day; “No, sir,” answered the hermit, “but I'm next neighbour just now to a chiel that’s drunk as often as he can get it.” Thomas was brought up a Calvanist, but for the last thirty years and upwards, never went to church; he probably felt that his outer appearance would cause more evil in and to others, than all the good he could receive. At one time he admitted of no visits on Sabbath, but latterly his house and garden was filled on that sacred day with crowds of every age and sex from morning till night. We are sorry to record this part of the hermit’s character, but truth as well as murder must out.
Although Thomas was very fond of money, he betrayed great inconsistency in some matters, suffering his farm to lie unploughed, and the manure of his cattle to run to waste.
He left several thousands of pounds, as far as we can learn, among distant relations. He never enjoyed the true comforts of life, and yet, after all, he perhaps enjoyed in his own way, what he deemed happiness. He is only another proof that all is vanity beneath the Sun.
We cannot conclude without observing, that although Scotland, by the all-powerful land of Death, is now deprived of her Ayrshire hermit, there exists a bona fida one about a mile past Kilmun kirk. We saw and conversed with this recluse last July. He resides a few yards off the right hand side of the public road which leads to Straehur. He is a tall thin man, above sixty years of age, and took up his abode there some years ago. It would appear that, like Thomas Raeburn, he had been unfortunate at Law, and although not
