Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 12:15 p.m. No.14873451   🗄️.is 🔗kun   >>3548

together with some of the High-elven folk. It is said that

Celeborn went to dwell there after the departure of Galadriel;

but there is no record of the day when at last he sought the

 

Grey Havens, and with him went the last living memory of

 

the Elder Days in Middle-earth.

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 12:36 p.m. No.14873548   🗄️.is 🔗kun   >>3555

>>14873451

Chapter 1

A L O N G - E X P E C T E D P A R T Y

When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he

would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with

 

a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and

excitement in Hobbiton.

Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the

wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable

disappearance and unexpected return. The riches he had

 

brought back from his travels had now become a local legend,

and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might

 

say, that the Hill at Bag End was full of tunnels stuffed with

 

treasure. And if that was not enough for fame, there was also

 

his prolonged vigour to marvel at. Time wore on, but it

 

seemed to have little effect on Mr. Baggins. At ninety he was

 

much the same as at fifty. At ninety-nine they began to call

him well-preserved; but unchanged would have been nearer the

mark. There were some that shook their heads and thought

 

this was too much of a good thing; it seemed unfair that

 

anyone should possess (apparently) perpetual youth as well

 

as (reputedly) inexhaustible wealth.

‘It will have to be paid for,’ they said. ‘It isn’t natural, and

trouble will come of it!’

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 12:37 p.m. No.14873555   🗄️.is 🔗kun   >>3563

>>14873548

But so far trouble had not come; and as Mr. Baggins was

generous with his money, most people were willing to for-

 

give him his oddities and his good fortune. He remained

 

on visiting terms with his relatives (except, of course, the

 

Sackville-Bagginses), and he had many devoted admirers

 

among the hobbits of poor and unimportant families. But he

 

had no close friends, until some of his younger cousins began

 

to grow up.

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 12:39 p.m. No.14873563   🗄️.is 🔗kun   >>3571

>>14873555

The eldest of these, and Bilbo’s favourite, was young Frodo

Baggins. When Bilbo was ninety-nine he adopted Frodo as

his heir, and brought him to live at Bag End; and the hopes of

 

the Sackville-Bagginses were finally dashed. Bilbo and Frodo

 

happened to have the same birthday, September 22nd. ‘You

had better come and live here, Frodo my lad,’ said Bilbo

 

one day; ‘and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties

comfortably together.’ At that time Frodo was still in his

 

tweens, as the hobbits called the irresponsible twenties

between childhood and coming of age at thirty-three.

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 12:39 p.m. No.14873571   🗄️.is 🔗kun

>>14873563

Twelve more years passed. Each year the Bagginses had

given very lively combined birthday-parties at Bag End; but

 

now it was understood that something quite exceptional

was being planned for that autumn. Bilbo was going to be

 

eleventy-one, 111, a rather curious number, and a very re-

spectable age for a hobbit (the Old Took himself had only

 

reached 130); and Frodo was going to be thirty-three, 33, an

important number: the date of his ‘coming of age’.

Tongues began to wag in Hobbiton and Bywater; and

rumour of the coming event travelled all over the Shire. The

 

history and character of Mr. Bilbo Baggins became once

 

again the chief topic of conversation; and the older folk

 

suddenly found their reminiscences in welcome demand.

No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham

Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer. He held forth at

 

The Ivy Bush, a small inn on the Bywater road; and he spoke

with some authority, for he had tended the garden at Bag

 

End for forty years, and had helped old Holman in the same

 

job before that. Now that he was himself growing old and

 

stiff in the joints, the job was mainly carried on by his young-

 

est son, Sam Gamgee. Both father and son were on very

 

friendly terms with Bilbo and Frodo. They lived on the Hill

 

itself, in Number 3 Bagshot Row just below Bag End.

‘A very nice well-spoken gentlehobbit is Mr. Bilbo, as I’ve

always said,’ the Gaffer declared. With perfect truth: for Bilbo

 

was very polite to him, calling him ‘Master Hamfast’, and

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:28 p.m. No.14873854   🗄️.is 🔗kun

Twelve more years passed. Each year the Bagginses had

given very lively combined birthday-parties at Bag End; but

 

now it was understood that something quite exceptional

was being planned for that autumn. Bilbo was going to be

 

eleventy-one, 111, a rather curious number, and a very re-

spectable age for a hobbit (the Old Took himself had only

 

reached 130); and Frodo was going to be thirty-three, 33, an

important number: the date of his ‘coming of age’.

Tongues began to wag in Hobbiton and Bywater; and

rumour of the coming event travelled all over the Shire. The

 

history and character of Mr. Bilbo Baggins became once

 

again the chief topic of conversation; and the older folk

 

suddenly found their reminiscences in welcome demand.

No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham

Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer. He held forth at

 

The Ivy Bush, a small inn on the Bywater road; and he spoke

with some authority, for he had tended the garden at Bag

 

End for forty years, and had helped old Holman in the same

 

job before that. Now that he was himself growing old and

 

stiff in the joints, the job was mainly carried on by his young-

 

est son, Sam Gamgee. Both father and son were on very

 

friendly terms with Bilbo and Frodo. They lived on the Hill

 

itself, in Number 3 Bagshot Row just below Bag End.

‘A very nice well-spoken gentlehobbit is Mr. Bilbo, as I’ve

always said,’ the Gaffer declared. With perfect truth: for Bilbo

 

was very polite to him, calling him ‘Master Hamfast’, and

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:29 p.m. No.14873863   🗄️.is 🔗kun

consulting him constantly upon the growing of vegetables –

in the matter of ‘roots’, especially potatoes, the Gaffer was

recognized as the leading authority by all in the neighbour-

 

hood (including himself ).

‘But what about this Frodo that lives with him?’ asked Old

Noakes of Bywater. ‘Baggins is his name, but he’s more than

 

half a Brandybuck, they say. It beats me why any Baggins

of Hobbiton should go looking for a wife away there in

 

Buckland, where folks are so queer.’

‘And no wonder they’re queer,’ put in Daddy Twofoot

(the Gaffer’s next-door neighbour), ‘if they live on the wrong

 

side of the Brandywine River, and right agin the Old Forest.

 

That’s a dark bad place, if half the tales be true.’

‘You’re right, Dad!’ said the Gaffer. ‘Not that the Brandy-

bucks of Buckland live in the Old Forest; but they’re a queer

breed, seemingly. They fool about with boats on that big

river – and that isn’t natural. Small wonder that trouble came

 

of it, I say. But be that as it may, Mr. Frodo is as nice a

 

young hobbit as you could wish to meet. Very much like

 

Mr. Bilbo, and in more than looks. After all his father was

 

a Baggins. A decent respectable hobbit was Mr. Drogo

 

Baggins; there was never much to tell of him, till he was

 

drownded.’

‘Drownded?’ said several voices. They had heard this and

other darker rumours before, of course; but hobbits have a

 

passion for family history, and they were ready to hear i

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:31 p.m. No.14873867   🗄️.is 🔗kun

‘Well, so they say,’ said the Gaffer. ‘You see: Mr. Drogo,

he married poor Miss Primula Brandybuck. She was our Mr.

 

Bilbo’s first cousin on the mother’s side (her mother being

 

the youngest of the Old Took’s daughters); and Mr. Drogo

 

was his second cousin. So Mr. Frodo is his first and second

cousin, once removed either way, as the saying is, if you

 

follow me. And Mr. Drogo was staying at Brandy Hall with

 

his father-in-law, old Master Gorbadoc, as he often did

 

after his marriage (him being partial to his vittles, and old

 

Gorbadoc keeping a mighty generous table); and he went out

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:32 p.m. No.14873875   🗄️.is 🔗kun

boating on the Brandywine River; and he and his wife were

drownded, and poor Mr. Frodo only a child and all.’

‘I’ve heard they went on the water after dinner in the

moonlight,’ said Old Noakes; ‘and it was Drogo’s weight as

sunk the boat.’

‘And I heard she pushed him in, and he pulled her in after

him,’ said Sandyman, the Hobbiton miller.

‘You shouldn’t listen to all you hear, Sandyman,’ said the

Gaffer, who did not much like the miller. ‘There isn’t no call

to go talking of pushing and pulling. Boats are quite tricky

 

enough for those that sit still without looking further for the

 

cause of trouble. Anyway: there was this Mr. Frodo left an

 

orphan and stranded, as you might say, among those queer

 

Bucklanders, being brought up anyhow in Brandy Hall. A

regular warren, by all accounts. Old Master Gorbadoc never

 

had fewer than a couple of hundred relations in the place.

 

Mr. Bilbo never did a kinder deed than when he brought the

 

lad back to live among decent folk.

‘But I reckon it was a nasty knock for those Sackville-

Bagginses. They thought they were going to get Bag End,

 

that time when he went off and was thought to be dead. And

 

then he comes back and orders them off; and he goes on

 

living and living, and never looking a day older, bless him!

 

And suddenly he produces an heir, and has all the papers

 

made out proper. The Sackville-Bagginses won’t never see

 

the inside of Bag End now, or it is to be hoped not.’

‘There’s a tidy bit of money tucked away up there, I hear

tell,’ said a stranger, a visitor on business from Michel

 

Delving in the Westfarthing. ‘All the top of your hill is full of

 

tunnels packed with chests of gold and silver, and jools, by

what I’ve heard.’

‘Then you’ve heard more than I can speak to,’ answered

the Gaffer. ‘I know nothing about jools. Mr. Bilbo is free with

his money, and there seems no lack of it; but I know of no

 

tunnel-making. I saw Mr. Bilbo when he came back, a matter

 

of sixty years ago, when I was a lad. I’d not long come

 

prentice to old Holman (him being my dad’s cousin), but he

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:34 p.m. No.14873889   🗄️.is 🔗kun

had me up at Bag End helping him to keep folks from tram-

pling and trapessing all over the garden while the sale was

on. And in the middle of it all Mr. Bilbo comes up the Hill

 

with a pony and some mighty big bags and a couple of chests.

 

I don’t doubt they were mostly full of treasure he had picked

 

up in foreign parts, where there be mountains of gold, they

 

say; but there wasn’t enough to fill tunnels. But my lad Sam

will know more about that. He’s in and out of Bag End.

 

Crazy about stories of the old days, he is, and he listens to

 

all Mr. Bilbo’s tales. Mr. Bilbo has learned him his letters –

 

meaning no harm, mark you, and I hope no harm will come

 

of it.

‘Elves and Dragons! I says to him. Cabbages and potatoes are

better for me and you. Don’t go getting mixed up in the business

of your betters, or you’ll land in trouble too big for you, I says to

him. And I might say it to others,’ he added with a look at

 

the stranger and the miller.

But the Gaffer did not convince his audience. The legend

of Bilbo’s wealth was now too firmly fixed in the minds of

 

the younger generation of hobbits.

‘Ah, but he has likely enough been adding to what he

brought at first,’ argued the miller, voicing common opinion.

 

‘He’s often away from home. And look at the outlandish folk

 

that visit him: dwarves coming at night, and that old wandering

 

conjuror, Gandalf, and all. You can say what you like, Gaffer,

 

but Bag End’s a queer place, and its folk are queerer.’

‘And you can say what you like, about what you know no

more of than you do of boating, Mr. Sandyman,’ retorted

 

the Gaffer, disliking the miller even more than usual. ‘If that’s

 

being queer, then we could do with a bit more queerness in

 

these parts. There’s some not far away that wouldn’t offer a

 

pint of beer to a friend, if they lived in a hole with golden

 

walls. But they do things proper at Bag End. Our Sam says

 

that everyone’s going to be invited to the party, and there’s

going to be presents, mark you, presents for all – this very

 

month as is.’

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:35 p.m. No.14873896   🗄️.is 🔗kun

That very month was September, and as fine as you could

ask. A day or two later a rumour (probably started by the

knowledgeable Sam) was spread about that there were going

 

to be fireworks – fireworks, what is more, such as had not

 

been seen in the Shire for nigh on a century, not indeed since

 

the Old Took died.

Days passed and The Day drew nearer. An odd-looking

waggon laden with odd-looking packages rolled into Hobbi-

ton one evening and toiled up the Hill to Bag End. The

 

startled hobbits peered out of lamplit doors to gape at it. It

 

was driven by outlandish folk, singing strange songs: dwarves

 

with long beards and deep hoods. A few of them remained

 

at Bag End. At the end of the second week in September a

 

cart came in through Bywater from the direction of Brandy-

wine Bridge in broad daylight. An old man was driving it all

 

alone. He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and

 

a silver scarf. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows

 

that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat. Small hobbit-

 

children ran after the cart all through Hobbiton and right up

 

the hill. It had a cargo of fireworks, as they rightly guessed.

 

At Bilbo’s front door the old man began to unload: there

 

were great bundles of fireworks of all sorts and shapes, each

 

labelled with a large red G and the elf-rune, .

That was Gandalf ’s mark, of course, and the old man

was Gandalf the Wizard, whose fame in the Shire was due

mainly to his skill with fires, smokes, and lights. His real

business was far more difficult and dangerous, but the

 

Shire-folk knew nothing about it. To them he was just one

 

of the ‘attractions’ at the Party. Hence the excitement of

 

the hobbit-children. ‘G for Grand!’ they shouted, and the

old man smiled. They knew him by sight, though he only

 

appeared in Hobbiton occasionally and never stopped long;

 

but neither they nor any but the oldest of their elders had

 

seen one of his firework displays – they now belonged to a

 

legendary past.

When the old man, helped by Bilbo and some dwarves,

had finished unloading, Bilbo gave a few pennies away; but

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:37 p.m. No.14873901   🗄️.is 🔗kun

a l o n g - e x p e c t e d p a r t y 33

not a single squib or cracker was forthcoming, to the dis-

appointment of the onlookers.

‘Run away now!’ said Gandalf. ‘You will get plenty when

the time comes.’ Then he disappeared inside with Bilbo, and

the door was shut. The young hobbits stared at the door in

 

vain for a while, and then made off, feeling that the day of

 

the party would never come.

Inside Bag End, Bilbo and Gandalf were sitting at the open

window of a small room looking out west on to the garden.

The late afternoon was bright and peaceful. The flowers

 

glowed red and golden: snap-dragons and sunflowers, and

 

nasturtians trailing all over the turf walls and peeping in at

 

the round windows.

‘How bright your garden looks!’ said Gandalf.

‘Yes,’ said Bilbo. ‘I am very fond indeed of it, and of all

the dear old Shire; but I think I need a holiday.’

‘You mean to go on with your plan then?’

 

‘I do. I made up my mind months ago, and I haven’t

changed it.’

‘Very well. It is no good saying any more. Stick to your

plan – your whole plan, mind – and I hope it will turn out

 

for the best, for you, and for all of us.’

‘I hope so. Anyway I mean to enjoy myself on Thursday,

and have my little joke.’

‘Who will laugh, I wonder?’ said Gandalf, shaking his head.

 

‘We shall see,’ said Bilbo.

The next day more carts rolled up the Hill, and still more

carts. There might have been some grumbling about ‘dealing

locally’, but that very week orders began to pour out of Bag

 

End for every kind of provision, commodity, or luxury that

 

could be obtained in Hobbiton or Bywater or anywhere in

 

the neighbourhood. People became enthusiastic; and they

 

began to tick off the days on the calendar; and they watched

 

eagerly for the postman, hoping for invitations.

Before long the invitations began pouring out, and the

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:45 p.m. No.14873953   🗄️.is 🔗kun

Hobbiton post-office was blocked, and the Bywater post-

office was snowed under, and voluntary assistant postmen

were called for. There was a constant stream of them going

 

up the Hill, carrying hundreds of polite variations on Thank

you, I shall certainly come.

A notice appeared on the gate at Bag End: no admit-

tance except on party business. Even those who had,

or pretended to have Party Business were seldom allowed

inside. Bilbo was busy: writing invitations, ticking off

 

answers, packing up presents, and making some private

 

preparations of his own. From the time of Gandalf ’s arrival

 

he remained hidden from view.

One morning the hobbits woke to find the large field, south

of Bilbo’s front door, covered with ropes and poles for tents

and pavilions. A special entrance was cut into the bank

 

leading to the road, and wide steps and a large white gate

 

were built there. The three hobbit-families of Bagshot Row,

 

adjoining the field, were intensely interested and generally

 

envied. Old Gaffer Gamgee stopped even pretending to work

 

in his garden.

The tents began to go up. There was a specially large

pavilion, so big that the tree that grew in the field was right

 

inside it, and stood proudly near one end, at the head of

 

the chief table. Lanterns were hung on all its branches.

 

More promising still (to the hobbits’ mind): an enormous

 

open-air kitchen was erected in the north corner of the field.

 

A draught of cooks, from every inn and eating-house for

 

miles around, arrived to supplement the dwarves and other

 

odd folk that were quartered at Bag End. Excitement rose to

 

its height.

Then the weather clouded over. That was on Wednesday

the eve of the Party. Anxiety was intense. Then Thursday,

 

September the 22nd, actually dawned. The sun got up, the

clouds vanished, flags were unfurled and the fun began.

Bilbo Baggins called it a party, but it was really a variety

of entertainments rolled into one. Practically everybody living

 

near was invited. A very few were overlooked by accident

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:47 p.m. No.14873971   🗄️.is 🔗kun   >>3981

but as they turned up all the same, that did not matter. Many

people from other parts of the Shire were also asked; and

there were even a few from outside the borders. Bilbo met

 

the guests (and additions) at the new white gate in person.

 

He gave away presents to all and sundry – the latter were

 

those who went out again by a back way and came in again

 

by the gate. Hobbits give presents to other people on their

own birthdays. Not very expensive ones, as a rule, and not

 

so lavishly as on this occasion; but it was not a bad system.

 

Actually in Hobbiton and Bywater every day in the year was

 

somebody’s birthday, so that every hobbit in those parts had

 

a fair chance of at least one present at least once a week. But

 

they never got tired of them.

On this occasion the presents were unusually good. The

hobbit-children were so excited that for a while they almost

forgot about eating. There were toys the like of which they

 

had never seen before, all beautiful and some obviously magi-

 

cal. Many of them had indeed been ordered a year before,

 

and had come all the way from the Mountain and from Dale,

 

and were of real dwarf-make.

When every guest had been welcomed and was finally

inside the gate, there were songs, dances, music, games, and,

 

of course, food and drink. There were three official meals:

 

lunch, tea, and dinner (or supper). But lunch and tea were

 

marked chiefly by the fact that at those times all the guests

 

were sitting down and eating together. At other times there

 

were merely lots of people eating and drinking – continuously

 

from elevenses until six-thirty, when the fireworks started.

The fireworks were by Gandalf: they were not only brought

by him, but designed and made by him; and the special

 

effects, set pieces, and flights of rockets were let off by

 

him. But there was also a generous distribution of squibs,

 

crackers, backarappers, sparklers, torches, dwarf-candles, elf-

 

fountains, goblin-barkers and thunder-claps. They were all

 

superb. The art of Gandalf improved with age.

There were rockets like a flight of scintillating birds singing

with sweet voices. There were green trees with trunks of dark

Anonymous ID: f0eda0 Oct. 28, 2021, 1:48 p.m. No.14873981   🗄️.is 🔗kun

>>14873971

>The art of Gandalf improved with age.

 

>There were rockets like a flight of scintillating birds singing

 

>with sweet voices. There were green trees with trunks of dark