han Baron Swasso
failed to do so; or, rather, refused to try. She was Miss Wallin, whom
the vulgar addressed as Crazy Sally; but she was not so crazy. Miss
Wallin was a bone-setter: she could put in a man's shoulder without
help, and she was not to be imposed upon. Once a cheat came to her with
his head done up in a bandage, and asked her to set his dislocated wrist
for him; it was not dislocated, and he wanted to show Miss Wallin up as
an impostor. She saw through that, and dislocated his wrist on the spot,
telling him to go back to the fools that sent him. Such a woman should
have been kept at Epsom; she was worth more than mere cathartic waters.
But Epsom could not keep her; she desired more than anything else in the
world to marry one Mr. Hill Mapp, who did not and would not live at
Epsom. She pursued him, always with an eye on the church, and Mapp
capitulated; but they were married in London. Epsom took back Mrs. Mapp,
but she could not live for ever.

After Mrs. Mapp, the end came quickly. Sea-bathing finished the little
town altogether; "the modern delightful practice of sea-bathing," as
Pownall puts it with tolerance. He does not give up hope, even in 1825;
he hopes that the medical profession will still give the wells a trial,
and believes that the waters will be found worthy. After that he comes
to the consideration of Epsom's races.

Water ended Epsom in 1715; wine began Epsom again in 1780. A party of
gentlemen, drinking at Lord Derby's table at Lambert's Oaks, a house on
the high ground above the town, lifted their glasses to the glories of
horse-racing. They founded two races, one, in 1779, for three-year-old
fillies; another, in 1780, for three-year-old colts and fillies. They
named the races after their host and the house where they drank, and
Epsom was made again. The Derby and the Oaks became national
institutions. Before that roystering party, the downs had seen racing,
but had not seen a racing crowd. Charles II had run his horses on Epsom
and Banstead downs; perhaps his horse now and then bore away the silver
bell, which was the first and simple prize when horses began racing.
Queen Anne may have entered a colt or two at Epsom: her consort, Prince
George of Denmark, loved horse-racing and drank Epsom waters. Greatest
of all memories of the Turf, Eclipse lived for years by Epsom downs, and
won poor little races for an obscure commoner. He would have won any
race he could have been asked by a king, b