Often considered the father of the American short story, Washington Irving was an author, columnist, essayist, travel writer, a literary mentor to the likes of Edgar Allan Poe, and an ambassador to Spain. Which is odd, because, for a short time in the late '90s, I believed I was the King of Spain. Whiskey, you're the devil.

Irving first achieved success in 1809 with the publication of "A History of New York from the Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty, by Dietrich Knickerbocker." The sly satire proved so popular, the name of the imaginary author soon became synonymous with anyone from New York, even providing inspiration in later years for a really bad basketball team. In 1819, at the age of 36, Irving's celebrity reached new heights with "The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.," which included the first two of the three stories that follow.

"Rip Van Winkle" by Washington Irving: By now, pretty much everyone knows the story of Rip Van Winkle, the man who falls asleep and wakes up 20 years later to discover the world around him has changed. The tale has become ingrained in the American culture. My personal favorite reference to Rip Van Winkle comes from the episode of "Taxi" when Tony Banta is attempting to become an actor simply because Bobby Wheeler, the Sunshine Cab Company's resident thespian, believes he has "the right look." Unfortunately, Tony's only previous acting experience comes from a school play in which he portrayed the guy who woke up Rip Van Winkle. Later, when Bobby erroneously states Tony has no experience, his prot‚g‚ points out the mistake with an impromptu performance of his earlier stage triumph. "Rip? Wake up, Rip. Rip, wake up." That's comedy.

Of course, in the actual story, no one wakes up Rip Van Winkle. Nope, he just sort of wakes up on his own. How disappointing. But before we get into the story's other disappointments, first a little background. Rip Van Winkle is a farmer in the Dutch country of New York, living peacefully along the Hudson River at the foot of the Catskill Mountains in the days when the area was still a province of Great Britain. Rip is a loveable, friendly sort, if a bit of an idler. He's adored by all except his own wife, who is a quarrelsome shrew and deeply opposed to Rip's slacking ways. Willing to do anything to avoid work, not to mention the lash of his wife's tongue, Rip ventures into the Catskills to steal some sweet solitude.

Refreshed for another round of domestic degradation, Rip begins to descend the mountain until he spies a small man struggling towards him with a keg of booze. While allergic to his own labors, Rip was always generous in helping others, especially in the transport of alcohol, so he lends a helping hand to his tiny friend. Without saying a word, the impish fellow, dressed in old Dutch garb, leads Rip to a secluded hollow in the mountain where other folk in ancient Dutch dress are bowling. Yes, bowling. Drinks are poured, Rip gets ripped, and 20 years pass in a night. When he finally does make it back home, Rip discovers his village has changed rather dramatically. His wife is dead, his children are grown, and the land is no longer under British rule, having been liberated in the Revolutionary War.

Now, here's where things get a little screwy. Growing up, I always thought the moral of Rip Van Winkle was that if you were lazy and unproductive, life would pass you by, leaving you elderly, alone, and with a really long beard. But the crazy thing is Rip doesn't seem to mind. He's kind of glad his wife is dead, and he moves in with his daughter and her husband and lives happily ever after. There's really not much of a moral here at all. In fact, it's a wonderful advertisement for naps. Assuming one sleeps long enough, all problems go away. Yeehaw.

I also could have done without the magical angle. Apparently, it's rooted in old Dutch folklore, with the Dutch bowlers being Hendrick Hudson and his crew, who return every 20 years to keep vigil over their beloved river. Yeah, that's great. Save it for the schoolyard, Irving. I just think it's better if Rip goes up the hill, falls asleep on his own without magic moonshine, and comes back down in horror of a life wasted. Oh, how I cherish regret. It ain't much, but it's all I got.

I was still going to give "Rip Van Winkle" three shots, simply because of the ingenious premise, but then I discovered it's basically the story of the ancient Greek philosopher Epimenides, who, as a boy, went off into the fields to look for sheep and fell asleep in a cave to awaken 57 years later with the gift of prophecy. Diogenes Laertius was the first to tell the story of Epimenides, setting it to paper around 200 ACE., beating Mr. Irving by a mere 1600 years.

All things considered, the apocryphal Rip Van Winkle story I grew up with is far superior to the real thing.

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"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving: Once again, thanks to cartoons and various television parodies, the story of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman is almost universally known. Hear the words "Ichabod Crane" and an image immediately springs to mind of a tall, gangly fellow with a large nose and loose limbs. It's nearly impossible to make it through Halloween without seeing the haunting specter of the black-clad Horseman upon his fearsome steed, a fiery jack-o-lantern often in place of his head. But unlike "Rip Van Winkle," which didn't live up to expectations, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" rises to the challenge of popular perception.

Ichabod Crane is the schoolmaster in Sleepy Hollow, a quaint Dutch valley of New York. He's not quite the gentle-hearted loser so often depicted in more recent versions of the tale; he's somewhat of a taskmaster with his students, never shy about wielding the switch. Yet despite his occasional stern hand, Ichabod maintains a fond relationship with his pupils, and it's a good thing, too. Being a bachelor of few means, Ichabod is forced to live in the homes of his students, rotating to a new family each week. Free meals are always appreciated since Ichabod's great love in life is eating. He fantasizes about food the way some do gin... or that Morgan Webb broad from G4. Have you seen this girl? Good lord. But I digress.

Aside from his duties as schoolmaster, Ichabod is also the area singing instructor, a job which brings him into the company of Katrina Van Tassel, the lovely daughter and only child of a wealthy Dutch farmer. While young men from far and wide are pursuing Katrina for her beauty, Ichabod sees only her immense fortune and all the rich delicacies it could afford come dinner time. Come to think of it, I bet that Morgan Webb could buy me some apples.

Anyway, one of Katrina's other suitors is Brom Van Brunt, a rough and tumble rogue who's everything Ichabod isn't, handsome, strong, athletic, basically the early 19th-century equivalent of the varsity football captain. Brom is also a major jackass, doing whatever he can to humiliate and embarrass Ichabod in front of Katrina. He better not pull any of that stuff on me in front of Morgan. I'll learn him something fierce. I know the Kung Fu.

One night, during a party at the Van Tassel estate, stories are shared concerning the Headless Horseman. A product of local lore, the Horseman is said to be the ghost of a Hessian soldier who had a rather gruesome meeting with a cannonball during the Revolutionary War. It's said he gallops through Sleepy Hollow at night, tormenting the countryside and paying respectful homage to his body buried in the local churchyard. The unnerving anecdotes don't stir Ichabod until he's making the lonely trek home on the back of a rundown, borrowed nag. There, under the inky black shroud of night, he has his own hellish encounter with the dreaded Horseman.

This is Mr. Irving at his best. A fine practitioner of the semicolon, he has a very opulent style, never missing a chance to pause and add an extra detail or further a description. Normally, I'm not a big fan of such leisurely prose, but he has an astonishing command of the language, drawing the utmost from each and every sentence. It's impressive.

The rampant enthusiasm, though, must be checked somewhat by the knowledge that Mr. Irving did not create the Headless Horseman. The grand ghoul is actually a legitimate German folktale, first recorded by Karl Musaus in the late 18th Century. Generations of Germans may be responsible for the Horseman, but Washington Irving made him famous.

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"The Devil and Tom Walker" by Washington Irving: An old New England folktale was the basis for "The Devil and Tom Walker," a Faustian yarn first published in 1824 as part of Mr. Irving's short story collection, "Tales of a Traveller."

Tom Walker is a miserly old cur married to an equally penurious hag. Protective of money, they're free with the vitriol, fighting most every night and giving the sacrament of marriage a bad name. One evening while wandering from the matrimonial battleground, Tom stops for a rest at the decaying remnants of an Indian fort. It's there he meets Old Scratch himself. Known as the Black Woodsman in that particular neighborhood, the venerable Beelzebub is toting an ax and rending husks of rotten trees engraved with the names of some of the town's prominent citizens. It seems everyone has entered a pact with the Devil to achieve success. And hey, Tom likes money. Satan promises to let him in on some buried treasure if he agrees to certain conditions. Never one to make rash decisions, Tom says he'll think about it and returns home to tell his wife. She, of course, wants him to agree to any and all terms, just so long as he gets the treasure.

Of course, Tom was perfectly willing until he heard his wife give her approval. Nothing in the world could make him please her, so he refuses outright. But Tom's wife isn't one to take no for an answer. If he wouldn't make nice with the Devil, she certainly would. Unfortunately, she's a bit too headstrong for her own good and meets a grisly end. And that's cool with Tom, it means he doesn't have to share the treasure. He strikes a deal with the Devil, trading his soul for immense wealth. He opens up shop as a money lender, using the initial capital to inflict countless pain and misery upon the poor souls desperate enough to seek his assistance, all the while increasing his own ill-gotten gold. Tom couldn't be happier. Ah, but eventually the Devil will get his due.

This is another solid effort from start to finish. While my favorite story about selling one's soul to the Devil remains "Enoch Soames" by the great Max Beerbohm, "The Devil and Tom Walker" isn't far behind. It's a quick, enjoyable read of the highest literary quality. Mr. Irving was a remarkable talent. And he really sticks it to evil money lenders. I personally know a few credit card companies that could learn a lesson or two from this cautionary tale of avarice.

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