Either cultivation began on the banks of the river, or a strong feeling of veneration was entertained for the spot where St. Kea landed from his granite trough, but so it happened that the church stood at one extremity of the parish, and that by far the least populous. Mr. Gwatkin led the way, and contributed largely towards constructing a new church much nearer to the great mass of the inhabitants; in this he was followed by other proprietors, and a spacious church is now in use for divine service between Killiow and Nanceavallan. Prayers, with a sermon suited to the occasion, were first given, after reading the Bishop’s license, on the 3d of October 1802, being the feasten Sunday, to a congregation so large as almost to fill the churchyard as well as the church itself, which is decorated by Mrs. Gwatkin, niece of Sir Joshua Reynolds, with paintings which that great artist could not have failed to admire. The tower alone remains to point out the site of the former church. Mr. Reginald Haweis, mentioned as the possessor of Killiow by Hals, received his education as a Gentleman Commoner of Exeter College; but he spent the whole of the remainder of his life in retirement. One Oxford anecdote he used to relate with peculiar pleasure. It seems that he was selected to recite some Latin verses in the theatre, commemorating the victory of Blenheim, an event without parallel in the modern history of Europe till the year 1815. In the verses occurred this apostrophe, Quo, Tallarde! ruis? and as Mr. Haweis was actually pronouncing these words, the Duke of Marlborough with Marshal Tallard entered the theatre, amidst thunders of applause. But possibly the entrance of Marshal Tallard may be a mistake. Mr. Reginald Haweis and his brother Edward, both stated to have families, died childless; and the estate devolved on Mr. David Haweis, the grandson of an uncle. That uncle had been a beneficed clergyman, but was deprived with the two thousand turned out to poverty and to suffer persecution (see St. Hilary parish) on St. Bartholomew’s day 1662; a day ill chosen by those who might recollect what happened on the same festival ninety years before.