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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" gd:etag="W/&quot;D0EBRXs_eyp7ImA9WxBVEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402</id><updated>2010-02-13T17:07:34.543+07:00</updated><title>Folk Stories From Around The World</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/" /><link rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>74</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/folktale" /><feedburner:info xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" uri="folktale" /><feedburner:emailServiceId xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0">folktale</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0">http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkADSHs_fyp7ImA9WxBQFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-728019574759645649</id><published>2010-01-16T03:50:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2010-01-16T03:52:59.547+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-01-16T03:52:59.547+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Japan" /><title>Story Of The Rats and Their Daughter</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/728019574759645649/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2010/01/story-of-rats-and-their-daughter.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/728019574759645649?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/728019574759645649?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2010/01/story-of-rats-and-their-daughter.html" title="Story Of The Rats and Their Daughter" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/S1DU1_DMVvI/AAAAAAAACwg/ndgbdj211Ik/s72-c/rat%2Bfamily%5B1%5D.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total><content type="html">Once near a lonely farmhouse surrounded by rice fields there lived a rat couple. They were highly regarded by their own kind and very prosperous. One day, in addition to their many other children, a little daughter was born to them. She was so dainty with her shiny gray fur, her broad little upright ears, and her glistening eyes, that her parents became quite proud of their little daughter. 

Day&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=1-Pws_AMuDw:lWCDwOd_S8Y:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=1-Pws_AMuDw:lWCDwOd_S8Y:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4DRXs7eCp7ImA9WxNVFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-5746375451560968284</id><published>2009-10-25T06:26:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T06:29:34.500+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-25T06:29:34.500+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Italy" /><title>SEXTON'S NOSE</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/5746375451560968284/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/10/sextons-nose.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/5746375451560968284?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/5746375451560968284?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/10/sextons-nose.html" title="SEXTON'S NOSE" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SuONt8txAQI/AAAAAAAACl4/5JXTTO-WVjE/s72-c/images%5B1%5D.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">A sexton, one day in sweeping the church, found a piece of money (it was a fifth of a cent) and deliberated with himself as to what he would buy with it. If he bought nuts or almonds, he was afraid of the mice; so at last he bought some roasted peas, and ate all but the last pea.This he took to a bakery nearby, and asked the mistress to keep it for him. She told him to leave it on a bench, and &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=0hnjWld-H8Y:sZoJcidStj4:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=0hnjWld-H8Y:sZoJcidStj4:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YFSXc-eyp7ImA9WxNWFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-413344732205868552</id><published>2009-10-15T02:34:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T02:38:38.953+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-15T02:38:38.953+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Indonesia" /><title>BIWAR AND THE DRAGON</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/413344732205868552/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/10/biwar-and-dragon.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/413344732205868552?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/413344732205868552?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/10/biwar-and-dragon.html" title="BIWAR AND THE DRAGON" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/StYoZB5hBMI/AAAAAAAAClw/77UvRAu1oK8/s72-c/images%5B4%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Folk Story From Papua, IndonesiaOne day, the people from the village of Mimika were very busy. They prepared twelve boats and set off on a journey to find sago (traditional food of the people in the island of Papua). After three days, their boats were filled with sago. But on their way back to the village, they were attacked by a dragon.The dragon’s tail caused a big wave in the river. Most of &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=sjC7BYUlUwo:gZluUvXqs-A:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=sjC7BYUlUwo:gZluUvXqs-A:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ENQ3o8cSp7ImA9WxNXGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-5504820992725409150</id><published>2009-10-07T19:43:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T19:48:12.479+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-07T19:48:12.479+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="India" /><title>TORTOISE WHO DISOBEY THE GOOSE</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/5504820992725409150/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/10/tortoise-who-disobey-goose.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/5504820992725409150?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/5504820992725409150?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/10/tortoise-who-disobey-goose.html" title="TORTOISE WHO DISOBEY THE GOOSE" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SsyNzzIr9UI/AAAAAAAAClI/V20-zDnzCoo/s72-c/images%5B2%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">In a certain pond there once lived a tortoise by the name of Kamburgriva (Shell-Neck). He had two friends who belonged to the goose family and who had grown very fond of him. One was named Sankata (Small) and the other Vikata (Large).They regularly came to the pond's bank where they told one another many stories about the wise ones among the gods, Brahmans, and kings. At sunset they would return &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=vzx2EBwnJ1Y:5u5lTmYxDXM:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=vzx2EBwnJ1Y:5u5lTmYxDXM:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYGSHc4cCp7ImA9WxNXFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-8890810091109892478</id><published>2009-10-03T22:16:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T22:18:49.938+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-03T22:18:49.938+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Hungary" /><title>THE WONDERFUL FROG</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/8890810091109892478/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/10/wonderful-frog.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/8890810091109892478?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/8890810091109892478?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/10/wonderful-frog.html" title="THE WONDERFUL FROG" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SsdrPNg7hgI/AAAAAAAACkg/0hI3bnl2qX0/s72-c/images%5B1%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total><content type="html">There was once, I don't know where, a man who had three daughters. One day the father thus spoke to the eldest girl, "Go, my daughter, and fetch me, some fresh water from the well."The girl went, but when she came to the well a huge frog called out to her from the bottom, that he would not allow her to draw water in her jug until she threw him down the gold ring on her finger."Nothing else? Is &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=GozeVyjw-iI:TMlxlt50CUM:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=GozeVyjw-iI:TMlxlt50CUM:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQFRHw5eyp7ImA9WxNXEEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-3313193573188999903</id><published>2009-09-28T02:02:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T02:05:15.223+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-28T02:05:15.223+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Germany" /><title>KING BLUEBEARD</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/3313193573188999903/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/09/king-bluebeard.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/3313193573188999903?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/3313193573188999903?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/09/king-bluebeard.html" title="KING BLUEBEARD" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/Sr-3OkxUPJI/AAAAAAAACiQ/CDMri_Eihdg/s72-c/images%5B25%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total><content type="html">Next to a great forest there lived an old man who had three sons and two daughters. Once they were sitting together thinking of nothing when a splendid carriage suddenly drove up and stopped in front of their house. A dignified gentleman climbed from the carriage, entered the house, and engaged the father and his daughters in conversation.Because he especially liked the youngest one, he asked the&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=C7GXJIACv-s:rwCfeadrCSU:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=C7GXJIACv-s:rwCfeadrCSU:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcMSHg7cCp7ImA9WxNQFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-9042485698996547705</id><published>2009-09-23T01:21:00.004+07:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T01:28:09.608+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-23T01:28:09.608+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="France" /><title>THE SUN'S HUSBAND</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/9042485698996547705/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/09/sun-husband.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/9042485698996547705?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/9042485698996547705?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/09/sun-husband.html" title="THE SUN'S HUSBAND" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SrkW-sTC75I/AAAAAAAACek/dE-uZ_AhWh8/s72-c/images%5B32%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total><content type="html">It is said that a monk, whose prayers were always answered, was one day seated on the seashore, when he saw a kite fly holding in one of its claws a little mouse, which escaped and fell on the monk. Touched with compassion for the mouse, he took it, wrapped it up in a leaf, and carried it home with him.Fearing that his people would not be very eager to care for it, he prayed his Lord to change it&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=zS2MFjMPzRQ:8B7d_adWRkA:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=zS2MFjMPzRQ:8B7d_adWRkA:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkIBSHs4cCp7ImA9WxNRGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-4855785613608800225</id><published>2009-09-14T14:48:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T17:35:59.538+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-14T17:35:59.538+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Estonia" /><title>TWO HORSES</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/4855785613608800225/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/09/two-horses.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4855785613608800225?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4855785613608800225?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/09/two-horses.html" title="TWO HORSES" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/Sq4cd1r2bYI/AAAAAAAACc0/zdeLpZJAinM/s72-c/images%5B3%5D.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Once upon a time there lived a lord's horse and a peasant's horse, and the two of them were great friends. Whenever they met they would talk and never have their fill of talking. But one day the lord's horse came out with something that badly hurt his friend's feelings."Unlike me, you are a horse of comiron breed," said he. "I am always harnessed to a coach mounted 13 on springs, and you, to a &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=m06AArvNY-A:gdxOFVMH6e4:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=m06AArvNY-A:gdxOFVMH6e4:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYBQHk5fCp7ImA9WxNSF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-5172911394912636309</id><published>2009-08-31T23:56:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T00:02:31.724+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-01T00:02:31.724+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="England" /><title>SUGAR AND SALT</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/5172911394912636309/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/sugar-and-salt.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/5172911394912636309?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/5172911394912636309?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/sugar-and-salt.html" title="SUGAR AND SALT" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SpwCEeEtj0I/AAAAAAAACcE/toS7WgNuvnU/s72-c/images%5B1%5D.jpg%253Fv%253D0" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Folk Story From EnglandOnce upon a time there was a father who had two daughters. Calling them to him one day he said to them, "What is the sweetest thing in the world?""Sugar," said the elder daughter."Salt," said the younger.The father was angry at this last answer. But his daughter stuck to it, and so her father said to her, "I won't keep a daughter in my house who believes that salt is the &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=XxTpOXn7Ln4:9qY8oau71Ck:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=XxTpOXn7Ln4:9qY8oau71Ck:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8CSX49fSp7ImA9WxNSE08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-7725515516563622669</id><published>2009-08-27T04:35:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-27T04:41:08.065+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-27T04:41:08.065+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Denmark" /><title>HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/7725515516563622669/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/hamlet-prince-of-denmark.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/7725515516563622669?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/7725515516563622669?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/hamlet-prince-of-denmark.html" title="HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SpWruDDLIkI/AAAAAAAACbs/oxemOFFONRc/s72-c/images%5B16%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Denmark Folk TaleHorwendil, King of Denmark, married Gurutha, the daughter of Rorik, and she bore him a son, whom they named Hamlet. Horwendil's good fortune stung his brother Feng with jealousy, so that the latter resolved treacherously to waylay his brother, thus showing that goodness is not safe even from those of a man's own house.And behold when a chance came to murder him, his bloody hand &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=LuqB95l9TFE:p26C8-BFZjY:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=LuqB95l9TFE:p26C8-BFZjY:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEBSHk_fip7ImA9WxNSEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-68956194146704463</id><published>2009-08-25T19:43:00.004+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T19:50:59.746+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T19:50:59.746+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="China" /><title>THE GOLD COLT AND THE FIRE DRAGON SHIRT</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/68956194146704463/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/gold-colt-and-fire-dragon-shirt.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/68956194146704463?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/68956194146704463?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/gold-colt-and-fire-dragon-shirt.html" title="THE GOLD COLT AND THE FIRE DRAGON SHIRT" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SpPd57y0mNI/AAAAAAAACa4/iKimXh_gEMk/s72-c/images%5B13%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">China's Folk StoryThere once lived a landlord who loved money as he loved his own life. In his eyes the smallest coin seemed as large as a millstone. He was always on the lookout for some new way of making money and was very mean to his peasant tenants. They all called him "Skinflint."One year a long spell of drought devastated the area, ruining the entire crop. The peasants, who were used to &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=yCeKqvAcX40:0ZFVDKmbJC8:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=yCeKqvAcX40:0ZFVDKmbJC8:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcMSXw5cCp7ImA9WxNTF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-836461836886644300</id><published>2009-08-20T18:20:00.004+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T18:34:48.228+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-20T18:34:48.228+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Belgium" /><title>SEVEN CONQUERORS OF QUEEN OF THE MISSISSIPPI</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/836461836886644300/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/seven-conquerors-of-queen-of.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/836461836886644300?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/836461836886644300?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/seven-conquerors-of-queen-of.html" title="SEVEN CONQUERORS OF QUEEN OF THE MISSISSIPPI" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/So00glB2EVI/AAAAAAAACaY/8Z_9l6EKi4A/s72-c/images%5B18%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Belgian Folk TaleOnce upon a time there was a boy who was ambitious. One day he said to his mother: 'Give me a muffin and patch my trousers, for I am going to set out to win the Queen of the Mississippi.' So the mother gave him a muffin and patched his trousers, and the boy went off.He had not gone very far when he came to a mountain path, on which was a great cross, beneath which stood a man &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=2kRbAfWguF8:RjZY53YNlWg:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=2kRbAfWguF8:RjZY53YNlWg:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQHR3g9eCp7ImA9WxNTEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-1371996014874403973</id><published>2009-08-13T13:40:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T13:52:16.660+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-13T13:52:16.660+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Australia" /><title>BOOTOOLGAH THE CRANE AND GOONUR THE KANGAROO RAT, THE FIRE MAKER</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/1371996014874403973/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/bootoolgah-crane-and-goonur-kangaroo.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/1371996014874403973?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/1371996014874403973?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/bootoolgah-crane-and-goonur-kangaroo.html" title="BOOTOOLGAH THE CRANE AND GOONUR THE KANGAROO RAT, THE FIRE MAKER" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SoO4AqroRvI/AAAAAAAACaA/1uCNBai-XeQ/s72-c/images%5B11%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Australian / Aborigin Folk TaleIN the days when Bootoolgah, the crane, married Goonur, the kangaroo rat, there was no fire in their country. They had to eat their food raw or just dry it in the sun. One day when Bootoolgah was rubbing two pieces of wood together, he saw a faint spark sent forth and then a slight smoke."Look," he said to Goonur, "see what comes when I rub these pieces of wood &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=uMTZ84-AQcM:79lDEk0isXI:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=uMTZ84-AQcM:79lDEk0isXI:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMNQHY8fSp7ImA9WxNTEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-4847472864812378258</id><published>2009-08-12T07:17:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T07:21:31.875+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-12T07:21:31.875+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Zimbabwe" /><title>MOTHER OF DONKEY</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/4847472864812378258/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/mother-of-donkey.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4847472864812378258?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4847472864812378258?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/mother-of-donkey.html" title="MOTHER OF DONKEY" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SoIKz4x77MI/AAAAAAAACZE/mMHPBM1KXgM/s72-c/images%5B2%5D.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total><content type="html">Zimbabwe StoryOnce there lived an old woman in Zikamanas. She had two donkeys. Every morning she went with them down the street to the fields. One morning two young men saw the old woman with her donkeys and shouted:"Good morning, mother of donkeys!""Good morning, my sons," the old woman answered and smiled at them.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=ahlTBXTyJsM:y29kgTDPZ0o:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=ahlTBXTyJsM:y29kgTDPZ0o:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04GSX07cSp7ImA9WxJaGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-6376438663177003252</id><published>2009-08-10T08:56:00.007+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T09:05:28.309+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-10T09:05:28.309+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Vietnam" /><title>STORY OF TAM AND CAM</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/6376438663177003252/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/story-of-tam-and-cam.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/6376438663177003252?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/6376438663177003252?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/story-of-tam-and-cam.html" title="STORY OF TAM AND CAM" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/Sn9_oLKl3EI/AAAAAAAACYs/I0cOA0mr3nY/s72-c/images%5B14%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total><content type="html">Vietnamese Folk TaleLong, long ago there was a man who lost his wife and lived with his little girl named Tam. Then he married again a wicked woman. The little girl found this out on the first day after the wedding. There was a big banquet in the house, but Tam was shut up in a room all by herself instead of being allowed to welcome the guests and attend the feast.Moreover, she had to go to bed &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=iaiOu_7aqm4:BbFH0r8pu54:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=iaiOu_7aqm4:BbFH0r8pu54:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4BRXs6fyp7ImA9WxJaF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-4411824358200902455</id><published>2009-08-09T11:11:00.005+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T13:22:34.517+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-09T13:22:34.517+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="USA" /><title>HOW JACK WENT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/4411824358200902455/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/how-jack-went-to-seek-his-fortune.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4411824358200902455?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4411824358200902455?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/how-jack-went-to-seek-his-fortune.html" title="HOW JACK WENT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/Sn5O_Bdp94I/AAAAAAAACYk/n3pHCIugWUM/s72-c/images%5B9%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total><content type="html">Americans Folk TaleOnce on a time there was a boy named Jack, who set out to seek his fortune. He had not gone but a little way when he came to a horse.The horse said, "Where are you going, Jack?"He said, "I'm going to seek my fortune. Won't you go along too?""Don't know, guess I will." So they walked along together.By and by they came to a cow. The cow said, "Where are you going, Jack?"He said, &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=bFhFaGKHtII:CiJEKJWp9Nc:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=bFhFaGKHtII:CiJEKJWp9Nc:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYGR3o8fCp7ImA9WxJaFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-746973169541379815</id><published>2009-08-08T06:31:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T06:35:26.474+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-08T06:35:26.474+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Turkey" /><title>HODJA MOVES MOUNTAINS</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/746973169541379815/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/faith-moves-mountains.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/746973169541379815?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/746973169541379815?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/faith-moves-mountains.html" title="HODJA MOVES MOUNTAINS" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/Sny6DLKekKI/AAAAAAAACYU/m4sLF6zSt7w/s72-c/images%5B1%5D.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Turkey Folk TaleThe Hodja was boasting about the power of his faith."If your faith is so strong, then pray for that mountain to come to you," said a skeptic, pointing to a mountain in the distance.The Hodja prayed fervently, but the mountain did not move. He prayed more, but the mountain remained unmoved.Finally the Hodja got up from his knees and began walking toward the mountain. "I am a humble&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=B--2dR41W9w:lE0m7TEC8Lk:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=B--2dR41W9w:lE0m7TEC8Lk:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU8GQn0ycSp7ImA9WxJaFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-388233891751621390</id><published>2009-08-08T06:27:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T06:30:23.399+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-08T06:30:23.399+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tibet" /><title>THE TIGER AND THE FROG</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/388233891751621390/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/tiger-and-frog.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/388233891751621390?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/388233891751621390?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/tiger-and-frog.html" title="THE TIGER AND THE FROG" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/Sny46t62XUI/AAAAAAAACYM/Z3KsxX_dops/s72-c/images%5B12%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Tibet Folk TaleOnce upon a time, in the days when the world was young and all animals understood each other's languages, an old, old tiger named Tsuden went out hunting for some food. As he was creeping quietly along the banks of a stream a frog saw him and was badly scared. He thought, "This tiger is coming to eat me up."He climbed up on a little bunch of sod, and when the tiger came near, &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=_59XKVRNv4c:My21AIjWCw8:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=_59XKVRNv4c:My21AIjWCw8:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEERXo9eip7ImA9WxJaFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-1376511547956395496</id><published>2009-08-08T06:21:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T06:26:44.462+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-08T06:26:44.462+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sweden" /><title>KNIGHT OF ALLABERG</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/1376511547956395496/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/knight-of-allaberg.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/1376511547956395496?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/1376511547956395496?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/knight-of-allaberg.html" title="KNIGHT OF ALLABERG" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/Sny3_zqJOqI/AAAAAAAACYE/-0MhS98GOiI/s72-c/images%5B7%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Sweden Folk TaleOne time a peasant, en route to Jönköping with a load of rye, came just at dusk to Ållaberg, where he discovered a grand mansion by the way."Maybe I can sell my rye here," thought he, "and so be spared the journey to Jönköping," and, approaching the door, he knocked for admittance.The door was at once opened by some unseen power, and the peasant entered.Upon entering, he found &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=DcpalVzZC1c:KnYgrVl6fSk:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=DcpalVzZC1c:KnYgrVl6fSk:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUFSHg_fip7ImA9WxJaFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-4512958621008197788</id><published>2009-08-07T08:18:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T08:23:39.646+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-07T08:23:39.646+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="South Africa" /><title>THE JACKAL AND THE FARMER</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/4512958621008197788/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/jackal-and-farmer.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4512958621008197788?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4512958621008197788?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/jackal-and-farmer.html" title="THE JACKAL AND THE FARMER" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SnuB_FCu3KI/AAAAAAAACX8/iM6MHdvNd7k/s72-c/images%5B1%5D.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">South Afica Folk TaleA farmer plowed with two oxen from morning till eve. One evening a lion came and said, "Give me one of your two oxen or I'll kill you and both of them."The farmer was terrified. He unspanned one of the oxen and gave it to the lion. The lion took it and carried it away. The farmer went home with the remaining ox and bought another one the same evening so that he would be able &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=ho6H-CNj9Z8:rwW3Tk1NSIc:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=ho6H-CNj9Z8:rwW3Tk1NSIc:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUADRns7cSp7ImA9WxJaFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-3497957002632031515</id><published>2009-08-07T08:08:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T08:16:17.509+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-07T08:16:17.509+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Scotland" /><title>STORY OF THE BROWNIE</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/3497957002632031515/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/story-of-brownie.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/3497957002632031515?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/3497957002632031515?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/story-of-brownie.html" title="STORY OF THE BROWNIE" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SnuATOk-lGI/AAAAAAAACX0/K4UBZwIaicM/s72-c/images%5B10%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Scotland Folk TaleOnce upon a time, long, long, before any of you were born, there lived an old woman in a cottage, beside a wide-stretching moor, behind the Ochil hills. Her cottage was in a very lonely spot, far from neighbours, and to keep her company there lived a little grandchild with the name of Nelly.The house in which they dwelt was known by the name of "Bessie o' the Bogs", for the old &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=gqmzC1gj1P4:6xqYwpRYBAM:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=gqmzC1gj1P4:6xqYwpRYBAM:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUARHk-eCp7ImA9WxJaFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-4921626617383800561</id><published>2009-08-07T08:04:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T08:07:25.750+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-07T08:07:25.750+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Russia" /><title>SNOW MAIDEN</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/4921626617383800561/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/snow-maiden.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4921626617383800561?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4921626617383800561?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/snow-maiden.html" title="SNOW MAIDEN" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/Snt-OZ_FWQI/AAAAAAAACXs/0Z29nhODs68/s72-c/images%5B12%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Russian Folk TaleOnce upon a time there lived a woodcutter and his old wife. They were poor and had no children. The old man cut logs in the forest and carried them into town; in this way he eked out a living. As they grew older they became sadder and sadder at being childless."We are growing so old. Who will take care of us?" the wife would ask from time to time."Do not worry, old woman. God &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=stwlhcD5arA:Tp16lmg-r9w:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=stwlhcD5arA:Tp16lmg-r9w:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0ACQng5cSp7ImA9WxJaFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-4803474110408044048</id><published>2009-08-06T06:38:00.005+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T06:42:43.629+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-06T06:42:43.629+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Philippines" /><title>BOY WHO BECAME A STONE</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/4803474110408044048/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/boy-who-became-stone.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4803474110408044048?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/4803474110408044048?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/boy-who-became-stone.html" title="BOY WHO BECAME A STONE" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SnoYcfJ0XoI/AAAAAAAACXk/JqJgfBOKkdE/s72-c/images%5B10%5D.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Philippines Folk TaleOne day a little boy named Elonen sat out in the yard making a bird snare, and as he worked, a little bird called to him: "Tik-tik-lo-den" (come and catch me). "I am making a snare for you," said the boy; but the bird continued to call until the snare was finished.Then Elonen ran and threw the snare over the bird and caught it, and he put it in a jar in his house while he &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=hy3xUgtKOso:znxapnT8A3M:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=hy3xUgtKOso:znxapnT8A3M:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MFRHs9fyp7ImA9WxJaFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-7449487960207874308</id><published>2009-08-06T06:27:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T06:36:55.567+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-06T06:36:55.567+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pakistan" /><title>YOUNG MAN AND SNAKE</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/7449487960207874308/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/young-man-and-snake.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/7449487960207874308?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/7449487960207874308?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/young-man-and-snake.html" title="YOUNG MAN AND SNAKE" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SnoXgGh3YSI/AAAAAAAACXc/ifZoMKFIvio/s72-c/images%5B8%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Pakistani Folk TaleThere was once a farmer who was extremely poor. It happened that when his poverty was greatest a son was born to him, and this son was such a lucky child that his father speedily became quite as rich as he was before poor, and obtained a great name over all the country.After a certain time the farmer thought to himself, "I must get my son betrothed somewhere. I was poor once, &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=8r_8r4GuVsY:1JEPaVdRwJg:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=8r_8r4GuVsY:1JEPaVdRwJg:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkANQ3s5eyp7ImA9WxJaFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760382063611539402.post-6635077666704408532</id><published>2009-08-06T06:18:00.004+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T06:26:32.523+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-06T06:26:32.523+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Norwegia" /><title>ALL WOMEN ARE ALIKE</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/feeds/6635077666704408532/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/all-women-are-alike.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/6635077666704408532?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4760382063611539402/posts/default/6635077666704408532?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.folk-stories.com/2009/08/all-women-are-alike.html" title="ALL WOMEN ARE ALIKE" /><author><name>Admin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="18383244576834525006" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_v11T11q2T30/SnoUtJ9hISI/AAAAAAAACXU/F6jODPzCkGw/s72-c/images%5B2%5D.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><content type="html">Norwegian Folk TaleOnce upon a time there was a man, and he had a wife. Now this couple wanted to sow their fields, but they had neither seed-corn nor money to buy it with. But they had a cow, and the man was to drive it into town and sell it to get money to buy corn for seed. But when it came to the pinch, the wife dared not let her husband start, for fear he should spend the money in drink, so &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=1guT2MnCrbU:n1oYVF7PyaI:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?a=1guT2MnCrbU:n1oYVF7PyaI:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/folktale?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry></feed>
