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The tremendous novel “The Lord of the Rings” by J. R. R. Tolkien is the most known workin the world literature in the fantasy genre. Initially, the novel wascreated as a single book, but the publisher suggested dividing it into three parts: "The Fellowship of the Ring", "The Two Towers" and "The Return of the King".


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The Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring John Ronald Reuel Tolkien The Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring 1954 © J.
Tolkien, 1954 E-Text: Greylib Contents Foreword This tale grew in the telling, until it became a history of the Great War of the Ring and included many glimpses of the yet more ancient history that preceded it.
It was begun soon after The Hobbit was written and before its publication in 1937; but I did not go on with this sequel, for I wished first to complete and set in order the mythology and legends of the Elder Days, which had then been taking shape for some years.
I desired to do this for my own satisfaction, and I had little hope that other people would be interested in this work, especially since it was primarily linguistic in inspiration and was begun in order to provide the necessary background of 'history' for Elvish tongues.
When those whose advice and opinion I sought corrected little hope to no hope, I went back to the sequel, encouraged by requests from readers for more information concerning hobbits and their adventures.
But the story was drawn irresistibly towards the older world, and became an account, as it were, of its end and passing away before its beginning and middle had been told.
The process had begun in the writing of The Hobbit, in which there were already some references to the older matter: Elrond, Gondolin, the High-elves, and the orcs, as well as glimpses that had arisen unbidden of things higher or deeper or darker than its surface: Durin, Moria, Gandalf, the Necromancer, the Ring.
The discovery of the significance of these glimpses and of their relation to the ancient histories revealed the Third Age and its culmination in the War of the Ring.
Those who had asked for more information about hobbits eventually got it, but they had to wait a long time; for the composition of The Lord of the Rings went on at intervals during the years 1936 to 1949, a period in which I had many duties that I did not neglect, and many other interests as a learner and teacher that often absorbed me.
The delay was, of course, also increased by the outbreak of war in 1939, by the end of which year the tale had not yet reached the end of Book One.
In spite of the darkness of the next five years I found that the story could not now be wholly abandoned, and I plodded on, mostly by night, till I stood by Balin's tomb in Moria.
There I halted for a long while.
https://festes.ru/book/book-of-ra-free-slots-download.html was almost a year later when I went on and so came to Lothlórien and the Great River late in 1941.
In the next year I wrote the first drafts of the matter that now stands as Book Three, and the beginnings of chapters I and III of Book Five; and there as the beacons flared in Anórien and Théoden came to Harrowdale I stopped.
Foresight had failed and there was no time for thought.
It was during 1944 that, leaving the loose ends and perplexities of a war which it was my task to conduct, or at least to report, I forced myself to tackle the journey of Frodo to Mordor.
These chapters, eventually to become Book Four, were written and sent out as a serial to my son, Christopher, then in South Africa with the RAF.
Nonetheless it took another five years before the tale was brought to its present end; in that time I changed my house, my chair, and my college, and the days though less dark were no less laborious.
Then when the 'end' had at last been reached the whole story had to be revised, and indeed largely re-written backwards.
And it had to be typed, and re-typed: by me; the cost of professional typing by the ten-fingered was beyond my means.
The Lord of the Rings has been read by many people since it finally appeared in print; and I should like to say something here with reference to the many opinions or guesses that I have received or have read concerning the motives and meaning of the tale.
The prime motive was the desire of a tale-teller to try his hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight them, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them.
As a guide I had only my own feelings for what is appealing or moving, and for many the guide was inevitably often at fault.
Some who have read the book, or at any rate have reviewed it, have found it boring, absurd, or contemptible; and I have no cause to complain, since I have similar opinions of their works, or of the kinds of writing that they evidently prefer.
But even from the points of view of many who have enjoyed my story there is much that fails to please.
It is perhaps not possible in a long tale to please everybody at all points, nor to displease everybody at the same points; for I find from the letters that I have received that the passages or chapters that are to some a blemish are all by others specially approved.
The most critical reader of all, myself, now finds many defects, minor and major, but being fortunately under no obligation either to review the book or to write it again, he will pass over these in silence, except one that has been noted by others: the book is too short.
As for any inner meaning or 'message', it has in the intention of the author none.
It is neither allegorical nor topical.
As the story grew it put down roots into the past and threw out unexpected branches: but its main theme was settled from the outset by the inevitable choice of the Ring as the link between it and The Hobbit.
The crucial chapter, "The Shadow of the Past', is one of the oldest parts of the tale.
It was written long before the foreshadow of 1939 had yet become a threat https://festes.ru/book/ts-rta-slot-booking-for-vehicle-registration.html inevitable disaster, and from that point the story casino books best strategy have developed along essentially the same lines, if that disaster had been averted.
Its sources are things long before in mind, or in some cases already written, and little or nothing in it was modified by the war that began in 1939 or its sequels.
The real war does not resemble the legendary war in its process or its conclusion.
If it had inspired or directed the development of the legend, then certainly the Ring would have been seized and used against Sauron; he would not have been annihilated but enslaved, and Barad-dûr would not have been destroyed but occupied.
Saruman, failing to get possession of the Ring, would in the confusion and treacheries of the time have found in Mordor the missing links in his own researches into Ring-lore, and before long he would have made a Great Ring of his own with which to challenge the self-styled Ruler of Middle-earth.
In that conflict both sides would have held hobbits in hatred and contempt: they would not long have survived even as slaves.
Other arrangements could be devised according to the tastes or views of those who like allegory or topical reference.
But I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence.
I much prefer history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers.
I think that many confuse 'applicability' with 'allegory'; but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purposed domination of the author.
An author cannot of course remain wholly unaffected by his experience, but the ways in which a story-germ uses the soil of experience are extremely complex, and attempts to define the process are at best guesses from evidence that is inadequate and ambiguous.
It is also false, though naturally attractive, when the lives of an author and critic have overlapped, to suppose that the movements of thought or the events of times common to both were necessarily the most powerful influences.
One has indeed personally to come under the shadow of war to feel fully its oppression; but as the years go by it seems now often forgotten that to be caught in youth by 1914 was no less hideous an experience than to be involved in 1939 and the following years.
By 1918 all but one of my close friends were dead.
Or to take a less grievous matter: it has been supposed by some that 'The Scouring of the Shire' reflects the situation in England at the time when I was finishing my tale.
It is an essential part of the plot, foreseen from the outset, though in the event modified by the character of Saruman as developed in the story without, need I say, any allegorical significance or contemporary political reference whatsoever.
It has indeed some basis in experience, though slender for the economic situation was entirely differentand much further back.
The country in which I lived in childhood was being shabbily destroyed before I was ten, in days when motor-cars were rare objects I had never seen one and men were still building suburban railways.
Recently I saw in a paper a picture of the last decrepitude of the once thriving corn-mill beside its pool that long ago seemed to me so important.
I never liked the looks of the Young miller, but his father, the Old miller, had a black beard, and he was not named Sandyman.
The Lord of the Rings is now issued in a new edition, and the opportunity has been this web page of revising it.
A number of errors and inconsistencies that still remained in the text have been corrected, and an attempt has been made to provide information on a few points which attentive readers have raised.
I have considered all their comments and enquiries, and if some seem to have been passed over that may be because I have failed to keep my notes in order; but many enquiries could only be answered by additional appendices, or indeed by the production of an accessory volume containing much of the material that I did not include in the original edition, in particular more detailed linguistic information.
In the meantime this edition offers this Foreword, an addition to the Prologue, some notes, and an index of the names of persons and places.
This index is in intention complete in items but not in references, since for the present purpose it has been necessary to reduce its bulk.
A complete index, making full use of the material prepared for me by Mrs.
Smith, belongs rather to the accessory volume.
Concerning Hobbits This book is largely concerned with Hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history.
Further information will also be found in the selection from the Red Book of Westmarch that has already been published, under the title of The Hobbit.
That story was derived from the earlier chapters of the Red Book, composed by Bilbo himself, the first Hobbit to become famous in the world at large, and called by him There and Back Again, since they told of his journey into the East and his return: an adventure which later involved all the Hobbits in the great events of that Age that are here related.
Many, however, may wish to know more about this remarkable people from the outset, while some may not possess the earlier book.
For such readers a few cobb book guru ernest slot on the more important points are here collected from Hobbit-lore, and the first adventure is briefly recalled.
Hobbits are an unobtrusive but very ancient people, more numerous formerly than good free online book games commit are today; for they love peace and quiet and good tilled earth: a well-ordered and well-farmed countryside was their favourite haunt.
They do not and did not understand or like machines more complicated than a forge-bellows, a water-mill, or a hand-loom, though they were skilful with tools.
Even in ancient days they were, as a rule, shy of 'the Big Folk', as they call us, and now they avoid us with dismay and are becoming hard to find.
They are quick of hearing and sharp-eyed, and though they are inclined to be fat and do not hurry unnecessarily, they are nonetheless nimble and deft in their movements.
They possessed from the first the art of disappearing swiftly and silently, when large play game king online free of whom they do not wish to meet come blundering by; and this an they have developed until to Men it may seem magical.
But Hobbits have never, in fact, studied magic of any kind, and their elusiveness is due solely to a https://festes.ru/book/wrest-point-casino-show-bookings.html skill that heredity and practice, and a close friendship with the earth, have rendered inimitable by bigger and clumsier races.
For they are a little people, smaller than Dwarves: less tout and stocky, that is, even when they are not actually much shorter.
Their height is variable, ranging between two and four feet of our measure.
They seldom now reach three feet; but they hive dwindled, they say, and in ancient days they were taller.
According to the Red Book, Bandobras Took Bullroarerson of Isengrim the Second, was four foot five and able to ride a horse.
He was surpassed in all Hobbit records only by two famous characters of old; but that curious matter is dealt with in this book.
As for the Hobbits of the Shire, with whom these tales are concerned, in the days of their peace and prosperity they were a merry folk.
They dressed in bright colours, being notably fond of yellow and green; but they seldom wore shoes, since their feet had tough leathery soles and were clad in a thick curling hair, much like the hair of their heads, which was commonly brown.
Thus, the only craft little practised among them was shoe-making; but they had long and skilful fingers and could make many other useful and comely things.
Their faces were as a rule good-natured rather than beautiful, broad, bright-eyed, red-cheeked, with mouths apt to laughter, and to eating and drinking.
And laugh they did, and eat, and drink, often and heartily, being fond of simple jests at all times, and of six meals a day when they could get them.
They were hospitable and delighted in parties, and in presents, which they gave away freely and eagerly accepted.
It is plain indeed that in spite of later estrangement Hobbits are relatives of ours: far nearer to us than Elves, or even than Dwarves.
Of old they spoke the languages of Men, after their own fashion, and liked and disliked much the same things as Men did.
But what exactly our relationship is can no longer be discovered.
The beginning of Hobbits lies far back in the Elder Days that are now lost and forgotten.
Only the Elves still preserve any records of that vanished time, and their traditions are concerned almost entirely with their own history, in which Men appear seldom and Hobbits are not mentioned at all.
Yet it is clear that Hobbits had, in fact, lived quietly in Middle-earth for many long years before other folk became congratulate, no limit holdem cash game books you aware of them.
And the world being after all full of strange creatures beyond count, these little people seemed of very little importance.
But in the days of Bilbo, and of Frodo his heir, they suddenly became, by no wish of their own, both important and renowned, and troubled the counsels of the Wise and the Great.
Those days, the Third Age of Middle-earth, are now long past, and the shape of all lands has been changed; but the regions in which Hobbits then lived were doubtless the same as those in which they still linger: the North-West of the Old World, east of the Sea.
Of their original home the Hobbits in Bilbo's time preserved no knowledge.
A love of learning other than genealogical https://festes.ru/book/vit-slot-booking-date-and-time.html was far from general among them, but there remained still a few in the older families who studied their own books, and even gathered reports of old times and distant lands from Elves, Dwarves, and Men.
Their own records began only after the settlement of the Shire, and their most ancient legends hardly looked further back than their Wandering Days.
It is clear, nonetheless, from these legends, and from the evidence of their peculiar words and customs, that like many other folk Hobbits had in the distant past moved westward.
Their earliest tales seem to glimpse a time when they dwelt in the upper vales of Anduin, between the eaves of Greenwood the Great and the Misty Mountains.
Why they later undertook the hard and perilous crossing of the mountains into Eriador is no longer certain.
Their own accounts speak of the multiplying of Men in the land, and of a shadow that fell on the forest, so that it became darkened and its new name was Mirkwood.
Before the crossing of the mountains the Hobbits had already become divided into three somewhat different breeds: Harfoots, Stoors, and Fallohides.
The Harfoots were browner of skin, smaller, and shorter, and they were beardless and bootless; their hands and feet were neat and nimble; and they preferred highlands and hillsides.
The Stoors were broader, heavier in build; their feet and hands were larger, and they preferred flat lands and riversides.
The Fallohides were fairer of skin and also of hair, and they were taller and slimmer than the others; they were lovers of trees and of woodlands.
The Harfoots had much to do with Dwarves in ancient times, and long lived in the foothills of the mountains.
They moved westward early, and roamed over Eriador as far as Weathertop while the others were still in the Wilderland.
They were the most normal and representative variety of Hobbit, and far the most numerous.
They were the most inclined to settle in one place, and longest preserved their ancestral habit of living in tunnels and holes.
The Stoors lingered long by the banks of the Great River Anduin, and were less shy of Men.
They came west after the Harfoots and followed the course of the Loudwater southwards; and there many of them long dwelt between Tharbad and the borders of Dunland before they moved north again.
The Fallohides, the least numerous, were a northerly branch.
They were more friendly with Elves than the other Hobbits were, and had more skill in language and song than in handicrafts; and of old they preferred hunting to tilling.
They crossed the mountains north of Rivendell and came down the River Hoarwell.
In Eriador they soon mingled with the other kinds that had preceded them, but being somewhat bolder and more adventurous, they were often found as leaders or chieftains among clans of Harfoots or Stoors.
Even in Bilbo's time the strong Fallohidish strain could still be noted among the greater families, such as the Tooks and the Masters of Buckland.
In the westlands of Eriador, between the Misty Mountains and the Mountains of Lune, the Hobbits found both Men and Elves.
Indeed, a remnant still dwelt there of the Dúnedain, the kings of Men that came over the Sea out of Westernesse; but they were dwindling fast and the lands of their North Kingdom were falling far and wide into waste.
There was room and to spare for incomers, and ere long the Hobbits began to settle in ordered communities.
Most of their earlier settlements had long disappeared and been forgotten in Bilbo's time; but one of the first to become important still endured, though reduced in size; this was at Bree and in the Chetwood that lay round about, some forty miles east of the Shire.
It was in these early days, doubtless, that the Hobbits learned their letters and began to write after the manner of the Dúnedain, who had in their turn long before learned the art from the Elves.
And in those days also they forgot whatever languages they had used before, and spoke ever after the Common Speech, the Westron as it was named, that was current through all the lands of the kings from Arnor to Gondor, and about all the coasts of the Sea from Belfalas to Lune.
Yet they kept a few words of their own, as well as their own names of months and days, and a great store of personal names out of the past.
About this time legend among the Hobbits first becomes history with a reckoning of years.
For it was in the one thousand six hundred and first year of the Third Age that the Fallohide brothers, Marcho and Blanco, set out from Bree; and having obtained permission from the high king at Fornost, they crossed the brown river Baranduin with a great following of Hobbits.
They passed over the Bridge of Stonebows, that had been built in the days of the power of the North Kingdom, and they took ail the land beyond to dwell in, between the river and the Far Downs.
All that was demanded of them was that they should keep the Great Bridge in repair, and all other bridges and roads, speed the king's messengers, and acknowledge his lordship.
Thus began the Shire-reckoning, for the year of the crossing of the Brandywine as the Hobbits turned the name became Year One of the Shire, and all later dates were reckoned from it.
At once the western Hobbits fell in love with their new land, and they remained there, and soon passed once more out of the history of Men and of Elves.
While there was still a king they were in name his subjects, but they were, in fact, ruled by their own chieftains and meddled not at all with events in the world outside.
To the last battle at Fornost with the Witch-lord of Angmar they sent some bowmen to the aid of the king, or so they maintained, though no tales of Men record it.
But in that war the North Kingdom ended; and then the Hobbits took the land for their own, and they chose from their own chiefs a Thain to hold the authority of the king that was gone.
There for a thousand years they were little troubled by wars, and they prospered and multiplied after the Dark Plague S.
Many thousands then perished, but the Days of Dearth 1158-60 were at the time of this tale long past and the Hobbits had again become accustomed to plenty.
The land was rich and kindly, and though it had long been deserted when they entered it, it had before been well tilled, and there the king had once had many farms, cornlands, vineyards, and woods.
Forty leagues it stretched from the Far Downs to the Brandywine Bridge, and fifty from the northern moors to the marshes in the south.
The Hobbits named it the Shire, as the region of the authority of their Thain, and a district of well-ordered business; and there in that pleasant comer of the world they plied their well-ordered business of living, and they heeded less and less the world outside where dark things moved, until they came to think that peace and plenty were the rule in Middle-earth and the right of all sensible folk.
They forgot or ignored what little they had ever known of the Guardians, and of the labours of those that made possible the long peace of the Shire.
They were, in fact, sheltered, but they had ceased to remember it.
At no time had Hobbits of any kind been warlike, and they had never fought among themselves.
In olden days they had, of course, been often obliged to fight to maintain themselves in a hard world; but in Bilbo's time that was very ancient history.
The last battle, before this story opens, and indeed the only one that had ever been fought within the borders of the Shire, was beyond living memory: the Battle of Greenfields, S.
Even the weathers had grown milder, and the wolves that had once come ravening out of the North in bitter white winters were now only a grandfather's tale.
So, though there was still some store of weapons in the Shire, these were used mostly as trophies, hanging above hearths or on walls, or gathered into the museum at Michel Delving.
The Mathom-house it was called; for anything that Hobbits had no immediate use for, but were unwilling to throw away, they called a mathom.
Their dwellings were apt to become rather crowded with mathoms, and many of the presents that passed from hand to hand were of that sort.
Nonetheless, ease and peace had left this people still curiously tough.
They were, if it came to it, difficult to daunt or to kill; and they were, perhaps, so unwearyingly fond of good things not least because they could, when put to it, do without them, and could survive rough handling by grief, foe, or weather in a way that astonished those who did not know them well and looked no further than their bellies and their well-fed faces.
Though slow to quarrel, and for sport killing nothing that lived, they were doughty at bay, and at need could still handle arms.
They shot well with the bow, for they were keen-eyed and sure at the mark.
Not only with bows and arrows.
If any Hobbit stooped for a stone, it was well to get quickly under cover, as all trespassing beasts knew very well.
All Hobbits had originally lived in holes in the ground, or so they believed, and in such dwellings they still felt most at home; but in the course of time they had been obliged to adopt other forms of abode.
Actually in the Shire in Bilbo's days it was, as a rule, only the richest and the poorest Hobbits that maintained the old custom.
The poorest went on living in burrows of the most primitive kind, mere holes indeed, with only one window or none; while the well-to-do still constructed more luxurious versions of the simple diggings of old.
But suitable sites for these large and ramifying tunnels or smials as they called them were not everywhere to be found; and in the flats and the low-lying districts the Hobbits, as they multiplied, began to build above ground.
Indeed, even in the hilly regions and the older villages, such as Hobbiton or Tuckborough, or in the chief township of the Shire, Michel Delving on the White Downs, there were now many houses of wood, brick, or stone.
These were specially favoured by millers, smiths, ropers, and cartwrights, and others of that sort; for even when they had holes to live in.
Hobbits had long been accustomed to build sheds and workshops.
The habit of building farmhouses and barns was said to have begun among the inhabitants of the Marish down by the Brandywine.
The Hobbits of that quarter, the Eastfarthing, were rather large and heavy-legged, and they wore dwarf-boots in muddy weather.
But they were well known to https://festes.ru/book/book-of-ra-novomatic-free-online.html Stoors in a large part of their blood, as indeed was shown by the down that many grew on their chins.
No Harfoot or Fallohide had any trace of a beard.
Indeed, the folk of the Marish, and of Buckland, east of the River, which they afterwards occupied, came for the most part later into the Shire up from south-away; and they still had many peculiar names and strange words not found elsewhere in the Shire.
It is probable that the craft of building, as many other crafts beside, was derived from the Dúnedain.
But the Hobbits may have learned it direct from the Elves, the teachers of Men in their youth.
For the Elves of the High Kindred had not yet forsaken Middle-earth, and they dwelt still at that time at the Grey Havens away to the west, and in other places within reach of the Shire.
Three Elf-towers of immemorial age were still to be seen on the Tower Hills beyond the western marches.
They shone far off in the moonlight.
The tallest was furthest away, standing alone upon a green mound.
The Hobbits of the Westfarthing said that one could see the Sea from the lop of that tower; but no Hobbit had ever been known to climb it.
Indeed, few Hobbits had ever seen or sailed upon the Sea, and fewer still had ever returned to report it.
Most Hobbits regarded even rivers and small boats with deep misgivings, and not many of them could swim.
And as the days of the Shire lengthened they spoke less and less with the Elves, and grew afraid of them, and distrustful of those that had dealings with them; and the Sea became a word of fear among them, and a token of death, and they turned their faces away from the hills in the west.
The craft of building may have come from Elves or Men, but the Hobbits used it in their own fashion.
They did not go in for towers.
Their houses were usually long, low, and comfortable.
The oldest kind were, indeed, no more than built imitations of smials, thatched with dry grass or straw, or roofed with turves, and having walls somewhat bulged.
That stage, however, belonged to the early days of the Shire, and hobbit-building had long since been altered, improved by devices, learned from Dwarves, or discovered by themselves.
A preference for round windows, and even round doors, was the chief remaining peculiarity of hobbit-architecture.
The houses and the holes of Shire-hobbits were often large, and inhabited by large families.
Bilbo and Frodo Baggins were as bachelors very exceptional, as they were also in many other ways, such as their friendship with the Elves.
Sometimes, as in the case of the Tooks of Great Smials, or the Brandybucks of Brandy Hall, many generations of relatives lived in comparative peace together in one ancestral and many-tunnelled mansion.
All Hobbits were, in any case, clannish and reckoned up their relationships with great care.
They drew long and elaborate family-trees with innumerable branches.
In dealing with Hobbits it is important to remember who is related to whom, and in what degree.
It would be impossible in this book to set out a family-tree that included even the more important members of the more important families at the time which these tales tell of.
The genealogical trees at the end of the Red Book of Westmarch are a small book in themselves, and all but Hobbits would find them exceedingly dull.
Hobbits delighted in such things, if they were accurate: they liked to have books filled with things that they already knew, set out fair and square with no contradictions.
Concerning Pipe-weed There is another astonishing thing about Hobbits of old that must be mentioned, an astonishing habit: they imbibed or inhaled, through pipes of clay or wood, the smoke of the burning leaves of a herb, which they called pipe-weed or leaf, a variety probably of Nicotiana.
A great deal of mystery surrounds the origin of this peculiar custom, or 'art' as the Hobbits preferred to call it.
All that could be discovered about it in antiquity was put together by Meriadoc Brandybuck later Master of Bucklandand since he and the tobacco of the Southfarthing play a part in the history that follows, his remarks in the introduction to his Herblore of the Shire may be quoted.
When Hobbits first began to smoke is not known, all casino spiele de book kostenlos spielen legends and family histories take it for granted; for ages folk in the Shire smoked various herbs, some fouler, some sweeter.
But all accounts agree that Tobold Hornblower of Longbottom in the Southfarthing first grew the true pipe-weed in his gardens in the days of Isengrim the Second, about the year 1070 of Shire-reckoning.
The best home-grown still comes from that district, especially the varieties now known as Longbottom Leaf, Old Toby, and Southern Star.
He knew much about herbs, but he was no traveller.
It is said that in his youth he went often to Bree, though he certainly never went further from the Shire than that.
It is thus quite possible that he learned of this plant in Bree, where now, at any rate, it grows well on the south slopes of the hill.
The Bree-hobbits claim to have been the first actual smokers of the pipe-weed.
They claim, of course, to have done everything before the people of the Shire, whom they refer to as "colonists"; but in this case their claim is, I think, likely to be true.
And certainly pity, casino game book of ra download agree was from Bree that the art of smoking the genuine weed spread in the recent centuries among Dwarves and such other folk, Rangers, Wizards, or wanderers, as still passed to and fro through that ancient road-meeting.
The home and centre of the an lord of the rings book 2 free online thus to be found in the old inn of Bree, The Prancing Pony, that has been kept by the family of Butterbur from time beyond record.
It grows abundantly in Gondor, and there is richer and larger than in the North, where it is never found wild, and flourishes only in warm sheltered places like Longbottom.
The Men of Gondor call it sweet galenas, and esteem it only for the fragrance of its flowers.
From that land it must have been carried up the Greenway during the long centuries between the coming of Elendil and our own day.
But even the Dúnedain of Gondor allow us this credit: Hobbits first put it into pipes.
Not even the Wizards first thought of that before we did.
Though one Wizard that I knew took up the art long ago, and became as skilful in it as in all other things that he put his mind to.
Of the Ordering of the Shire The Shire was divided into four quarters, the Farthings already referred to.
North, South, East, and West; and these again each into a number of folklands, which still bore the names of some of the old leading families, although by the time of this history these names were no longer found only in their proper folklands.
Nearly all Tooks still lived in the Tookland, but that was not true of many other families, such as the Bagginses or the Boffins.
Outside the Farthings were the East and West Marches: the Buckland see beginning of Chapter V, Book I ; and the Westmarch added to the Shire in S.
The Shire at this time had hardly any 'government'.
Families for the most part managed their own affairs.
Growing food and eating it occupied most of their time.
In other matters they were, as a rule, generous and not greedy, but contented and moderate, so that estates, farms, workshops, and small trades tended to remain unchanged for generations.
There remained, of course, the ancient tradition concerning the high king at Fornost, or Norbury as they called it, away north of the Shire.
But there had been no king for nearly a thousand years, and even the ruins of Kings' Norbury were covered with grass.
Yet the Hobbits https://festes.ru/book/best-book-apps-free.html said of wild folk and wicked things such as trolls that they had not heard of the king.
For they attributed to the king of old all their essential laws; and usually they kept the laws of free will, because they were The Rules as they saidboth ancient and just.
It is true that the Took family had long been pre-eminent; for the office of Thain had passed to them from the Oldbucks some centuries before, and the chief Took had borne that more info ever since.
The Thain was the master of the Shire-moot, and captain of the Shire-muster and the Hobbitry-in-arms, but as muster and moot were only held in times of emergency, which no longer occurred, the Thainship had ceased to be more than a nominal dignity.
The Took family was still, indeed, accorded a special respect, for it remained both numerous and exceedingly wealthy, and was liable to produce in every generation strong characters of peculiar habits and even adventurous temperament.
The latter qualities, however, were now rather tolerated in the rich than generally approved.
The custom endured, nonetheless, of referring to the head of the family as The Took, and of adding to his name, if required, a number: such as Isengrim the Second, for instance.
The only real official in the Shire at this date was the Mayor of Michel Delving or of the Shirewho was elected every seven years at the Free Fair on the White Downs at the Lithe, that is at Midsummer.
As mayor almost his only duty was to preside at banquets, given on the Shire-holidays, which occurred at frequent intervals.
But the offices of Postmaster and First Shirriff were attached to the mayoralty, so that he managed both the Messenger Service and the Watch.
These were the only Shire-services, and the Messengers were the most numerous, and much the busier of the two.
By no means all Hobbits were lettered, but those who were wrote constantly to all their friends and a selection of their relations who lived further off than an afternoon's walk.
The Shirriffs was the name that the Hobbits gave to their police, or the nearest equivalent that they possessed.
They had, of course, no uniforms such things being quite unknownonly a feather in their caps; and they were in practice rather haywards than policemen, more concerned with the strayings of beasts than of people.
There were in all the Shire only twelve of them, three in each Farthing, for Inside Work.
A rather larger body, varying at need, was employed to 'beat the bounds', and to see that Outsiders of any kind, great or small, did not make themselves a nuisance.
At the time when this story begins the Bounders, as they were called, had been greatly increased.
There were many reports and complaints of strange persons and creatures prowling about the borders, or over them: the first sign that all was not quite as it should be, and always had been except in tales and legends of long ago.
Few heeded the sign, and not even Bilbo yet had any notion of what it portended.
Sixty years had passed since he set out on his memorable journey, and he was old even for Hobbits, who reached a hundred as often as not; but much evidently still remained of the considerable wealth that he had brought back.
How much or how little he revealed to no one, not even to Frodo his favourite 'nephew'.
And he still kept secret the ring that he bad found.
Of the Finding of the Ring As is told in The Hobbit, there came one day to Bilbo's door the great Wizard, Gandalf the Grey, and thirteen dwarves with him: none other, indeed, than Thorin Oakenshield, descendant of kings, and his twelve companions in exile.
With them he set out, to his own lasting astonishment, on a morning of The egypt game book review, it being then the year 1341 Shire-reckoning, on a quest of great treasure, the dwarf-hoards of the Kings under the Mountain, beneath Erebor in Dale, far off in the East.
The quest was successful, and the Dragon that guarded the hoard was destroyed.
Yet, though before all was won the Battle of Five Armies was fought, and Thorin was slain, and many deeds of renown were done, the matter would scarcely have concerned later history, or earned more than a note in the long annals of the Third Age, but for an 'accident' by the way.
The party was assailed by Orcs in a high pass of the Misty Mountains as they went towards Wilderland; and so it happened that Bilbo was lost for a while in the black orc-mines deep under the mountains, and there, as he groped in vain in the dark, he put his hand on a ring, lying on the floor of a tunnel.
He put it in his pocket.
It seemed then like mere luck.
Trying to find his way out.
Bilbo went on down to the roots of the mountains, until he could go no further.
At the bottom of the tunnel lay a cold lake far from about the games book 1 light, and on an island of rock in the water lived Gollum.
He was a loathsome little creature: he paddled a small boat with his large flat feet, peering with pale luminous eyes and catching blind fish with his long fingers, and eating them raw.
He ate any living thing, even orc, if he could catch it and strangle it without a struggle.
He possessed a secret treasure that had come to him long ages ago, when he still lived in the light: a ring of gold that made its wearer invisible.
It was the one thing he loved, his 'precious', and he talked to it, even when it was not with him.
For he kept it hidden safe in a hole on his island, except when he was hunting or spying on the ores of the mines.
Maybe he would have attacked Bilbo at once, if the ring had been on him when they met; but it was not, and the hobbit held in slot machine 777 online book of ra hand an Elvish knife, which served him as a sword.
So to gain time Gollum challenged Bilbo to the Riddle-game, saying that if he https://festes.ru/book/casino-gratis-book-of-ra.html a riddle which Bilbo could not guess, then he would kill him and eat him; but if Bilbo defeated him, then he would do as Bilbo wished: he would lead him to a way out of the tunnels.
Since he was lost in the dark without hope, and could neither go on nor back.
Bilbo accepted the challenge; and they asked one another many riddles.
In the end Bilbo won the game, more by luck as it seemed than by wits; for he was stumped at last for a riddle to ask, and cried out, as his hand came upon the ring he lad picked up and forgotten: What haw I got in my pocket?
This Gollum failed to answer, though he demanded three guesses.
The Authorities, it is true, differ whether this last question was a mere 'question' and not a 'riddle' according to the strict rules of the Game; but all agree that, after accepting it and trying to guess the answer, Gollum was bound by his promise.
And Bilbo pressed him to keep his word; for the thought came to him that this slimy creature might prove false, even though such promises were held sacred, and of old all but the wickedest things feared to break them.
He slipped away, and returned to the island, of which Bilbo knew nothing, not far off in the dark water.
There, he thought, lay his ring.
He was hungry now, and angry, and once his 'precious' was with him he would not fear any weapon at all.
But the ring was not on the island; he had lost it, it was gone.
His screech sent a shiver down Bilbo's back, though he did not yet understand what had happened.
But Gollum had at last leaped to a guess, too late.
What has it got in its pocketses?
The light in his eyes was like a green flame as he sped back to murder the hobbit and recover his 'precious'.
Just in time Bilbo saw his peril, and he fled blindly up the passage away from the water; and once more he was saved by his luck.
For just as he ran he put his hand in his pocket, and the ring slipped quietly on to his finger.
Warily Bilbo followed him, as he went along, cursing, and talking to himself about his 'precious'; from which talk at last even Bilbo guessed the truth, and hope came to him in the darkness: he himself had found the marvellous ring and a chance of escape from the orcs and from Gollum.
At length they came to a halt before an unseen opening that led to the lower gates of the mines, on the eastward side of the mountains.
There Gollum crouched at bay, smelling and listening; and Bilbo was tempted to slay him with his sword.
But pity stayed him, and though he kept the ring, in which his only hope lay, he would not use it to help him kill the wretched creature at a disadvantage.
In the end, gathering his courage, he leaped over Gollum in the dark, and fled away down the passage, pursued by his enemy's cries of hate and despair: Thief, thief!
We hates it for ever!
Now it is a curious fact that this is not the story as Bilbo first told it to his companions.
To them his account was that Gollum had promised to give him a present, if he won the game; but when Gollum went to fetch it from his island he found the treasure was gone: a magic ring, which had been given to him long ago on his birthday.
Bilbo guessed that this was the very ring that he had found, and as he had won the game, it was already his by right.
But being in a tight place, he said nothing about it, and made Gollum show him the way out, as a reward instead of a present.
This account Bilbo set down in his memoirs, and he seems never to have altered it himself, not even after the Council of Elrond.
Evidently it still appeared in the original Red Book, as it did in several of the copies and abstracts.
But many copies contain the true account as an alternativederived no doubt from notes by Frodo or Samwise, both of whom learned the truth, though they seem to have been unwilling to delete anything actually written by the old hobbit himself.
Gandalf, however, disbelieved Bilbo's first story, as soon as he heard it, and he continued to be very lord of the rings book 2 free online about the ring.
Eventually he got the true tale out of Bilbo after much questioning, which for a while strained their friendship; but the wizard seemed to think the truth important.
Though he did not say so to Bilbo, he also thought it important, and disturbing, to find that the good hobbit had not told the truth from the first: quite contrary to his habit.
The idea of a 'present' was not mere hobbitlike invention, all the same.
It was suggested to Bilbo, as he confessed, by Gollum's talk that he overheard; for Gollum did, in fact, call the ring his 'birthday present', many times.
That also Gandalf thought strange and suspicious; but he did not discover the truth in this point for many more years, as will be seen in this book.
Of Bilbo's later adventures little more need be said here.
With the help of the ring he escaped from the orc-guards at the gate and rejoined his companions.
He used the ring many times on his quest, chiefly for the help of his friends; but he kept it secret from them as long as he could.
After his return to his home he never spoke of it again to anyone, save Gandalf and Frodo; and no one else in the Shire knew of its existence, or so he believed.
Only to Frodo did he show the account of his Journey that he was writing.
His sword, Sting, Bilbo hung over his fireplace, and his coat of marvellous mail, the gift of the Dwarves from the Dragon-hoard, he lent to a museum, to the Michel Delving Mathom-house in fact.
But he kept in a drawer at Bag End the old cloak and hood that he had worn on his travels; and the ring, secured by a fine chain, remained in his pocket.
He returned to his home at Bag End on June the 22nd in his fifty-second year S.
Baggins began the preparations for the celebration of his hundred-and-eleventh birthday S.
At this point this History begins.
Note on the shire records At the end of the Third Age the part played by the Hobbits in the great events that led to the inclusion of the Shire in the Reunited Kingdom awakened among them a more widespread interest in their own history; and many of their traditions, up to that time still mainly oral, were collected and Written down.
The greater families were also concerned with events in the Kingdom at large, and many of their members studied its ancient histories and legends.
By the end of the first century of the Fourth Age there were already to be found in the Shire several libraries that contained many historical books and records.
The largest of these collections were probably at Undertowers, at Great Smials, and at Brandy Hall.
This account of the end of the Third Age is drawn mainly from the Red Book of Westmarch.
That most important source for the history of the War of the Ring was so called because it was long preserved at Undertowers, the home of the Fairbairns, Wardens of the Westmarch.
It was in origin Bilbo's private diary, which he took with him to Rivendell.
Frodo brought it back to the Shire, together with many loose leaves of notes, and during S.
But annexed to it and preserved with it, probably m a single red case, were the three large volumes, bound in red leather, that Bilbo gave to him as a parting gift.
To these four volumes there was added in Westmarch a fifth containing commentaries, genealogies, and various other matter lord of the rings book 2 free online the hobbit members of the Fellowship.
The original Red Book has not been preserved, but many copies were made, especially of the first volume, for the use of the descendants of the children of Master Samwise.
The most important copy, however, has a different history.
It was kept at Great Smials, but it was written in Condor, probably at the request of the great-grandson of Peregrin, and completed in S.
Its southern scribe appended this note: Findegil, King's Writer, finished this work in IV 172.
It is an exact copy in all details of the Thain's Book m Minas Tirith.
That book was a copy, made at the request of King Elessar, of the Red Book of the Periannath, and was brought to him by the Thain Peregrin when he retired to Gondor in IV 64.
The Thain's Book was thus the first copy made of the Red Book and contained much that was later omitted or lost.
In Minas Tirith it received much annotation, and many corrections, especially of names, words, and quotations in the Elvish languages; and there was added to it an abbreviated version of those parts of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen which lie outside the account of the War.
The full tale is stated to have been written by Barahir, grandson of the Steward Faramir, some time after the passing of the King.
But the chief importance of Findegil's copy is that it alone contains the whole of Bilbo's 'Translations from the Elvish'.
These three volumes were found to be a work of great skill and learning in which, between 1403 and 1418, he had used all the sources available to him in Rivendell, both living and written.
But since they were little used by Frodo, being almost entirely concerned with the Elder Days, no more is said of them here.
Since Meriadoc and Peregrin became the heads of their great families, and at the same time kept up their connexions with Rohan and Gondor, the libraries at Bucklebury and Tuckborough contained much that did not appear in the Red Book.
In Brandy Hall there were many works dealing with Eriador and the history of Rohan.
Some of these were composed or begun by Meriadoc himself, though in the Shire he was chiefly remembered for his Herblore of the Shire, and for his Reckoning of Years m which he discussed the relation of the calendars of the Shire and Bree to those of Rivendell, Gondor, and Rohan.
He also wrote a short treatise on Old Words and Names in the Shire, having special interest in discovering the kinship with the language of the Rohirrim of such 'shire-words' as mathom and old elements in place names.
At Great Smials the books were of less interest to Shire-folk, though more important for larger history.
None of them was written by Peregrin, but he and his successors collected many manuscripts written by scribes of Gondor: mainly copies or summaries of histories or legends relating to Elendil and his heirs.
Only here in the Shire were to be found extensive materials for the history of Númenor and the arising of Sauron.
It was probably at Great Smials that The Tale of Years was put together, with the assistance of material collected by Meriadoc.
Though the dates given are often conjectural, especially for the Second Age, they deserve attention.
It is probable that Meriadoc obtained assistance and information from Rivendell, which he visited more than once.
There, though Elrond had departed, his sons long remained, 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.
Book I Chapter 1 A Long-expected Party 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.
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.
Baggins was generous with his money, most people were willing to forgive him his oddities and his good fortune.
He remained on visiting terms with his relatives except, of course, the Sackville-Bagginsesand 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.
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.
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.
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 youngest 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.
It beats me why any Baggins of Hobbiton should go looking for a wife away there in Buckland, where folks are so queer.
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.
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 it again.
Drogo, he married poor Miss Primula Brandybuck.
She was our Mr.
Drogo was his second cousin.
Frodo is his first and second cousin, once removed either way, as the saying is, if you follow me.
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 boating on the Brandywine River; and he and his wife were drownded, and poor Mr.
Frodo only a child and all.
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.
Bilbo never did a kinder deed than when he brought the lad back to live among decent folk.
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.
I know nothing about jools.
Bilbo is free with his money, and there seems no lack of it; but I know of no tunnel-making.
Bilbo when he came back, a matter of sixty years ago, when I was a lad.
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.
But my lad Sam will know more about that.
Crazy about stories of the old days he is, and he listens to all Mr.
Bilbo has learned him his letters - meaning no harm, mark you, and I hope no harm will come of it.
But the Gaffer did not convince his audience.
And look at the outlandish folk that visit him: dwarves coming at night, and that old wandering conjuror, Gandalf, and all.
But they do things proper at Bag End.
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 Hobbiton 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 the Brandywine 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.
His real business was far more difficult and dangerous, but the Shire-folk knew nothing about it.
Hence the excitement of the hobbit-children.
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 the legendary past.
When the old man, helped by Bilbo and some dwarves, had finished unloading.
Bilbo gave a few pennies away; but not a single squib or cracker was forthcoming, to the disappointment of the onlookers.
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 sun-flowers, and nasturtiums trailing all over the turf walls and peeping in at the round windows.
I am very fond indeed of it, and of all the dear old Shire; but I think I need a holiday.
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.
Anyway I mean to enjoy myself on Thursday, and have my little joke.
The next day more carts rolled up the Hill, and still more carts.
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 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 admittance 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.
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.
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.
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, 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.
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 magical.
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 smoke: their leaves opened like a whole spring unfolding in a moment, and their shining branches dropped glowing flowers down upon the astonished hobbits, disappearing with a sweet scent just before they touched their upturned faces.
There were fountains of butterflies that flew glittering into the trees; there were pillars of coloured fires that rose and turned into eagles, or sailing ships, or a phalanx of flying swans; there was a red thunderstorm and a shower of yellow rain; there was a forest of silver spears that sprang suddenly into the air with a yell like an embattled army, and came down again into the Water with a hiss like a hundred hot snakes.
And there was also one last surprise, in honour of Bilbo, and it startled the hobbits exceedingly, as Gandalf intended.
The lights went out.
A great smoke went up.
It shaped itself like a mountain seen in the distance, and began to glow at the summit.
It spouted green and scarlet flames.
Out flew a red-golden dragon - not life-size, but terribly life-like: fire came from his jaws, his eyes glared down; there was a roar, and he whizzed three times over the heads of the crowd.
They all ducked, and many fell flat on their faces.
The dragon passed like an express train, turned a somersault, and burst over Bywater with a deafening explosion.
The pain and alarm vanished at once, and the prostrate hobbits leaped to their feet.
There was a splendid supper for everyone; for everyone, that is, except those invited to the special family dinner-party.
This was held in the great pavilion with the tree.
The invitations were limited to twelve dozen a number also called by the hobbits one Gross, though the word was not considered proper to use of people ; and the guests were selected from all the families to which Bilbo and Frodo were related, with the addition of a few special unrelated friends such as Gandalf.
Many young hobbits were included, and present by parental permission; for hobbits were easy-going with their children in the matter of sitting up late, especially when there was a chance of getting them a free meal.
Bringing up young hobbits took a lot of provender.
Some of these were only very distantly connected with Bilbo, and some of them had hardly ever been in Hobbiton before, as they lived in remote corners of the Shire.
The Sackville-Bagginses were not forgotten.
Otho and his wife Lobelia were present.
They disliked Bilbo and detested Frodo, but so magnificent was the invitation card, written in golden ink, that they had felt it was impossible to refuse.
Besides, their cousin, Bilbo, had been specializing in food for many years and his table had a high reputation.
All the one hundred and forty-four guests expected a pleasant feast; though they rather dreaded the after-dinner speech of their host an inevitable item.
He was liable to drag in bits of what he called poetry; and sometimes, after a glass or two, would allude to the absurd adventures of his mysterious journey.
The guests were not disappointed: they had a very pleasant feast, in fact an engrossing entertainment: rich, abundant, varied, and prolonged.
After the feast more or less came the Speech.
They were sipping their favourite drinks, and nibbling at their favourite dainties, and their fears were forgotten.
They were prepared to listen to anything, and to cheer at every full stop.
My dear People, began Bilbo, rising in his place.
Bilbo left his place and went and stood on a chair under the illuminated tree.
The light of the lanterns fell on his beaming face; the golden buttons shone on his embroidered silk waistcoat.
They could all see him standing, waving one hand in the air, the other was in his trouser-pocket.
My dear Bagginses and Boffins, he began again; and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots.
His name, of course, was Proudfoot, and well merited; his feet were large, exceptionally furry, and both were on the table.
Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End.
Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy-one today!
Bilbo was doing splendidly.
This was the sort of stuff they liked: short and obvious.
Cries of Yes and No.
Noises of trumpets and horns, pipes and flutes, and other musical instruments.
There were, as has been said, many young hobbits present.
Hundreds of musical crackers had been pulled.
Most of them bore the mark dale on them; which did not convey much to most of the hobbits, but they all agreed they were marvellous crackers.
They contained instruments, small, but of perfect make and enchanting tones.
Indeed, in one corner some of the young Tooks and Brandybucks, supposing Uncle Bilbo to have finished since he had plainly said all that was necessarynow got up an impromptu orchestra, and began a merry dance-tune.
Master Everard Took and Miss Melilot Brandybuck got on a table and with bells in their hands began to dance the Springle-ring: a pretty dance, but rather vigorous.
But Bilbo had not finished.
Seizing a horn from a youngster near by, he blew three loud hoots.
Cheers from all the assembly.
Something in the way that he said this made an impression.
There was almost silence, and one or two of the Tooks pricked up their ears.
Indeed, for Three Purposes!
First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits.
Tremendous outburst of approval.
This was unexpected and rather difficult.
There was some scattered clapping, but most of them were trying to work it out and see if it came to a compliment.
Secondly, to celebrate my birthday.
For it is, of course, also the birthday of my heir and nephew, Frodo.
He comes of age and into his inheritance today.
Together we score one hundred and forty-four.
Your numbers were chosen to fit this remarkable total: One Gross, if I may use the expression.
Many of his guests, and especially the Sackville-Bagginses, were insulted, feeling sure they had only been asked to fill up the required number, like goods in a package.
I was only fifty-one then, and birthdays did not seem so important.
I now repeat it more correctly: Thank you very much for coming to my little party.
They all feared that a song or some poetry was now imminent; and they were getting bored.
But Bilbo did not sing or recite.
He paused for a moment.
Thirdly and finally, he said, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT.
He spoke this last word so loudly and suddenly that everyone sat up who still could.
I regret to announce that - though, as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you - this is the END.
I am leaving NOW.
He stepped down and vanished.
There was a blinding flash of light, and the guests all blinked.
When they opened their eyes Bilbo was nowhere to be seen.
One hundred and forty-four flabbergasted hobbits sat back speechless.
Old Odo Proudfoot removed his feet from the table and stamped.
Then there was a dead silence, until suddenly, after several deep breaths, every Baggins, Boffin, Took, Brandybuck, Grubb, Chubb, Burrows, Bolger, Bracegirdle, Brockhouse, Goodbody, Hornblower, and Proudfoot began to talk at once.
It was generally agreed that the joke was in very bad taste, and more food and drink were needed to cure the guests of shock and annoyance.
For the moment most of them took it for granted that his disappearance was nothing more than a ridiculous prank.
But old Rory Brandybuck was not so sure.
I believe that mad Baggins is off again.
Frodo was the only one present who had said nothing.
He had enjoyed the joke, of course, even though he had been in the know.
He had difficulty in keeping from laughter at the indignant surprise of the guests.
But at the same time he felt deeply troubled: he realized suddenly that he loved the old hobbit dearly.
Frodo did not want to have any more to do with the party.
He gave orders for more wine to be served; then he got up and drained his own glass silently to the health of Bilbo, and slipped out of the pavilion.
As for Bilbo Baggins, even while he was making his speech, he had been fingering the golden ring in his pocket: his magic ring that he had kept secret for so many years.
As he stepped down he slipped it on his finger, and he was never seen by any hobbit in Hobbiton again.
He walked briskly back to his hole, and stood for a moment listening with a smile to the din in the pavilion and to the sounds of merrymaking in other parts of the field.
Then he went in.
He took off his party clothes, folded up and wrapped in tissue-paper his embroidered silk waistcoat, and put it away.
Then he put on quickly some old untidy garments, and fastened round his waist a worn leather belt.
On it he hung a short sword in a battered black-leather scabbard.
From a locked drawer, smelling of moth-balls, he took out an old cloak and hood.
They had been locked up as if they were very precious, but they were so patched and weatherstained that their original colour could hardly be guessed: it might have been dark green.
They were rather too large for him.
He then went into his study, and from a large strong-box took out a bundle wrapped in old cloths, and a leather-bound manuscript; and also a large bulky envelope.
The book and bundle he stuffed into the top of a heavy bag that was standing there, already nearly full.
Into the envelope he slipped his golden ring, and its fine chain, and then sealed it, and addressed it to Frodo.
At first he put it on the mantelpiece, but suddenly he removed it and stuck it in his pocket.
At that moment the door opened and Gandalf came quickly in.
I suppose you feel that everything has gone off splendidly and according to plan?
A little addition of your own, I suppose?
You have wisely kept that ring secret all these years, and it seemed to me necessary to give your guests something else that would seem to explain your sudden vanishment.
It has now come to the final point.
You have had your joke, and alarmed or offended most of your relations, and given the whole Shire something to talk about for nine days, or ninety-nine more likely.
Are you going any further?
I feel I need a holiday, a very long holiday, as I have told you before.
I need a change, or something.
I want to see mountains again, Gandalf, mountains, and then find somewhere where I can rest.
In peace and quiet, without a lot of relatives prying around, and a string of confounded visitors hanging on the bell.
I might find somewhere where I can finish my book.
I have thought of a nice ending for it: and he lived happily ever after to the end of his days.
I hope he will.
But nobody will read the book, however it ends.
Frodo has read some already, as far as it has gone.
In fact he offered to once, just before the party.
But he does not really want to, yet.
I want to see the wild country again before I die, and the Mountains; but he is still in love with the Shire, with woods and fields and little rivers.
He ought to be comfortable here.
I am leaving everything to him, of course, except a few oddments.
I hope he will be happy, when he gets used to being on his own.
You agreed to that, you remember.
Here it is in my pocket!
Why do you want me to?
It was sharp with suspicion and annoyance.
Magic rings are - well, magical; and they are rare and curious.
I was professionally interested in your ring, you may say; and I still am.
I should like to know where it is, if you go wandering again.
Also I think you have had it quite long enough.
Bilbo, unless I am quite mistaken.
His kindly face grew hard.
It is my own.
It came to me.
Even if Gollum said the same once.
And I shall keep it, I say.
It has got far too much hold on you.
And then you can go yourself, and be free.
Do as you promised: give it up!
If you say that again, I shall.
Then you will see Gandalf the Grey uncloaked.
Bilbo backed away to the wall, breathing hard, his hand clutching at his pocket.
They stood for a while facing one another, and the air of the room tingled.
Slowly his hands relaxed, and he began to tremble.
What is it all about?
I am not trying to rob you, but to help you.
I wish you would trust me, as you used.
He seemed to dwindle again to an old grey man, bent and troubled.
Bilbo drew his hand over his eyes.
And yet it would be a relief in a way not to be bothered with it any more.
It has been so growing on my mind lately.
Sometimes I have felt it was like an eye looking at me.
Go away and leave it behind.
Give it to Frodo, and I will look after him.
It would quite spoil the joke.
You had better take it and deliver it for me.
That will be safest.
It will be safe enough there, till Frodo comes.
I shall wait for him.
Before he could pick it up, the wizard stooped and seized it and set it in its place.
Suddenly it gave way to a look of relief and a laugh.
Bilbo chose his favourite stick from the stand; then he whistled.
Three dwarves came out of different rooms where they had been busy.
It was a fine night, and the black sky was dotted with stars.
He looked up, sniffing the air.
What fun to be off again, off on the Road with dwarves!
This is what I have really been longing for, for years!
Take care of yourself!
You are old enough, and perhaps wise enough.
I am as happy now as I have ever been, and that is saying a great deal.
But the time has come.
Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet.
He paused, silent for a moment.
Then without another word he turned away from the lights and voices in the fields and tents, and followed by his three companions went round into his garden, and trotted down the long sloping path.
He jumped over a low place in the hedge at the bottom, and took to the meadows, passing into the night like a rustle of wind in the grass.
Gandalf remained for a while staring after him into the darkness.
Frodo came in soon afterwards, and found him sitting in the dark, deep in thought.
He always used to joke about serious things.
I wish I had come back sooner, just to see him off.
He left a packet for you.
Still, it may be useful.
But keep it secret, and keep it safe!
Now I am going to bed.
Rumours of strange events had by now spread all over the field, but Frodo would only say no doubt everything will be cleared up in the morning.
About midnight carriages came for the important folk.
One by one they rolled away, filled with full but very unsatisfied hobbits.
Gardeners came by arrangement, and removed in wheel-barrows those that had inadvertently remained behind.
The hobbits rose rather later.
People came and began by orders to clear away the pavilions and the tables and the chairs, and the spoons and knives and bottles and plates, and the lanterns, and the flowering selling book spin in boxes, and the crumbs and cracker-paper, the forgotten bags and gloves and handkerchiefs, and the uneaten food a very small item.
Then a number of other people came without orders : Bagginses, and Boffins, and Bolgers, and Tooks, and other guests that lived or were staying near.
By mid-day, when even the best-fed were out and about again, there was a large crowd at Bag End, uninvited but not unexpected.
Frodo was waiting on the step, smiling, but looking rather tired and worried.
He welcomed all the callers, but he had not much more to say than before.
Bilbo Baggins has gone away; as far as I know, for good.
Inside in the hall there was piled a large assortment of packages and parcels and small articles of furniture.
On every item there was a label tied.
There were several labels of this sort: For ADELARD TOOK, for his VERY OWN, from Bilbo, on an umbrella.
Adelard had carried off many unlabelled ones.
For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo, on a large waste-paper basket.
For MILO BURROWS, hoping it will be useful, from B.
Milo never answered letters.
She was a young Baggins, and too obviously considered her face shapely.
For the collection of HUGO BRACEGIRDLE, from a contributor, on an empty book-case.
Hugo was a great borrower of books, and worse than usual at returning them.
For LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS, as a PRESENT, on a case of silver spoons.
Bilbo believed that she had acquired a good many of his spoons, while he was away on his former journey.
Lobelia knew that quite well.
When she arrived later in the day, she took the point at once, but she also took the spoons.
This is only a small selection of the assembled presents.
It was a tendency of hobbit-holes to get cluttered up: for which the custom of giving so many birthday-presents was largely responsible.
Not, of course, that the birthday-presents were always new, there were one or two old mathoms of forgotten uses that had circulated all around the district; but Bilbo had usually given new presents, and kept those that he received.
The old hole was now being cleared a little.
Every one of the various parting gifts had labels, written out personally by Bilbo, and several had some point, or some joke.
But, of course, most of the things were given where they would be wanted and welcome.
The poorer hobbits, and especially those of Bagshot Row, did very well.
Old Gaffer Gamgee got two sacks of potatoes, a new spade, a woollen waistcoat, and a bottle of ointment for creaking joints.
Rory quite forgave Bilbo, and voted him a capital fellow after the first bottle.
There was plenty of everything left for Frodo.
And, of course, all the chief treasures, as well as the books, pictures, and more than enough furniture, were left in his possession.
There was, however, no sign nor mention of money or jewellery: not a penny-piece or a glass bead was given away.
Frodo had a very trying time that afternoon.
A false rumour that the whole household was being distributed free spread like wildfire; and before long the place was packed with people who had no business there, but could not be kept out.
Labels got torn off and mixed, and quarrels broke out.
Some people tried to do swaps and deals in the hall; and others tried to make off with minor items not addressed to them, or with anything that seemed unwanted or unwatched.
The road to the gate was blocked with barrows and handcarts.
In the middle of the commotion the Sackville-Bagginses arrived.
Frodo had retired for a while and left his friend Merry Brandybuck to keep an eye on things.
When Otho loudly demanded to see Frodo, Merry bowed politely.
Just go and tell him so!
It did not improve their tempers.
Eventually they were shown into the study.
Frodo was sitting at a table with a lot of papers in front of him.
He looked indisposed - to see Sackville-Bagginses at any rate; and he stood up, fidgeting with something in his pocket.
But he spoke quite politely.
The Sackville-Bagginses were rather offensive.
They began by offering him bad bargain-prices as between friends for various valuable and unlabelled things.
When Frodo replied that only the things specially directed by Bilbo were being given away, they said the whole affair was very fishy.
I insist on seeing the will.
He read the will carefully and snorted.
It was, unfortunately, very clear and correct according to the legal customs of hobbits, which demand among other things seven signatures of witnesses in red ink.
But Lobelia was not so easily got rid of.
A little later Frodo came out of the study to see how things were going on and found her still about the place, investigating nooks and comers and tapping the floors.
He escorted her firmly off the premises, after he had relieved her of several small but rather valuable articles that had somehow fallen inside her umbrella.
When he had overcome Sancho and pushed him out, Frodo collapsed on a chair in the hall.
He had hardly sat down, when there came a soft knock at the front-door.
The knock was repeated, much louder, but he took no notice.
I thought it was Lobelia.
But I saw her some time ago, driving a pony-trap towards Bywater with a face that would have curdled new milk.
I longed to disappear.
In fact, it is partly about that that I have come to say a last word.
I have heard his story: how he found it, and how he used it: on his journey, I mean.
He said you had pestered him till he told you, so I had better know too.
It was very unlike Bilbo to do so, anyway; and I thought it rather odd.
But odd things may happen to people that have such treasures - if they use them.
Let it be a warning to you to be very careful with it.
It may have other powers than just making you vanish when you wish to.
No need to worry.
But if you take my advice you will use it very seldom, or not at all.
At least I beg you not to use it in any click at this page that will cause talk or rouse suspicion.
I say again: keep it safe, and keep it secret!
What are you afraid of?
I may be able to tell you something when I come back.
I of download thrones game books going off at once: so this is good-bye for the present.
I was looking forward to your help.
Expect me when you see me!
I shall slip in quietly.
I find that I have become rather unpopular.
They say I am a nuisance and a disturber of the peace.
Some people are actually accusing me of spiriting Bilbo away, or worse.
If you want to know, there is supposed to be a plot between you and me to get hold of his wealth.
I would give them Bag End and everything else, if I could get Bilbo back and go off tramping in the country with him.
I love the Shire.
But I begin to wish, somehow, that I had gone too.
I wonder if I shall ever see him again.
Take care of yourself!
Look out for me, especially at unlikely times!
He gave a final wave of his hand, and walked off at a surprising pace; but Frodo thought the old wizard looked unusually bent, almost as if he was carrying a great weight.
The evening was closing in, and his cloaked figure quickly vanished into the twilight.
Frodo did not see him again for a long time.
Chapter 2 The Shadow of the Past The talk did not die down in nine or even ninety-nine days.
The second disappearance of Mr.
Bilbo Baggins was discussed in Hobbiton, and indeed all over the Shire, for a year and a day, and was remembered much longer than that.
It became a fireside-story for young hobbits; and eventually Mad Baggins, who used to vanish with a bang and a flash and reappear with bags of jewels and gold, became a favourite character of legend and lived on long after all the true events were forgotten.
But in the meantime, the general opinion in the neighbourhood was that Bilbo, who had always been rather cracked, had at last gone quite mad, and had run off into the Blue.
There he had undoubtedly fallen into a pool or a river and come to a tragic, but hardly an untimely, end.
The blame was mostly laid on Gandalf.
And to all appearance the wizard did leave Frodo alone, and he did settle down, but the growth of hobbit-sense was not very noticeable.
But that was short of the mark, for twenty guests were invited and there were several meals at which it snowed food and rained drink, as hobbits say.
He said that he did not think Bilbo was dead.
He lived alone, as Bilbo had done; but he had a good many friends, especially among the younger hobbits mostly descendants of the Old Took who had as children been fond of Bilbo and often in and out of Bag End.
Folco Boffin and Fredegar Bolger were two of these; but his closest friends were Peregrin Took usually called Pippinand Merry Brandybuck his real name was Meriadoc, but that was seldom remembered.
Frodo went tramping all over the Shire with them; but more often he wandered by himself, and to the amazement of sensible folk he was sometimes seen far from home walking in the hills and woods under the starlight.
Merry and Pippin suspected that he visited the Elves at times, as Bilbo had done.
Frodo himself, after the first shock, found that being his own master and the Mr.
Baggins of Bag End was rather pleasant.
For some years he was quite happy and did not worry much about the future.
But half unknown to himself the regret that he had not gone with Bilbo was steadily growing.
He found himself wondering at times, especially in the autumn, about the wild lands, and strange visions of mountains that he had never seen came into his dreams.
Frodo began to feel restless, and the more info paths seemed too well-trodden.
He looked at maps, and wondered what lay beyond their edges: maps made in the Shire showed mostly white spaces beyond its borders.
He took to wandering further afield and more often by himself; and Merry and his other friends watched him anxiously.
Often he was seen walking and talking with the strange wayfarers that began at this time to appear see more the Shire.
There were rumours of strange things happening in the world outside; and as Gandalf had not at that time appeared or sent any message for several years, Frodo gathered all the news he could.
Elves, who seldom walked in the Shire, could now be seen passing westward through the woods in the evening, passing and not returning; but they were leaving Middle-earth and were no longer concerned with its troubles.
There were, however, dwarves on the road in unusual numbers.
The ancient East-West Road ran through the Shire to its end at the Grey Havens, and dwarves had always used it on their way to their mines in the Blue Mountains.
But now Frodo often met strange dwarves of far countries, seeking refuge in the West.
They were troubled, and some spoke in whispers of the Enemy and of the Land of Mordor.
That name the hobbits only knew in legends of the dark past, like a shadow in the background of their memories; but it was ominous and disquieting.
It seemed that the evil power in Mirkwood had been driven out by the White Council only to reappear in greater strength in the old strongholds of Mordor.
The Dark Tower had been rebuilt, it was said.
From there the power was spreading far and wide, and away far east and south there were wars and growing fear.
Orcs were multiplying again in the mountains.
Trolls were abroad, no longer dull-witted, but cunning and armed with dreadful weapons.
And there were murmured hints of creatures more terrible than all these, but they had no name.
Little of all this, of course, reached the ears of ordinary hobbits.
But even the deafest and most stay-at-home began to hear queer tales; and those whose business took them to the borders saw strange things.
Who invented the stories anyway?
They do say that one bigger than a tree was seen up away beyond the North Moors not long back.
He works for Mr.
Boffin at Overhill and goes up to the Northfarthing for the hunting.
What he saw was an elm tree, as like as not.
There was some laughing and clapping: the audience seemed to think that Ted had scored a point.
The Bounders have never been so busy before.
They do say they are going to the harbours, out away beyond the White Towers.
But it was an old tradition that away over lord of the rings book 2 free online stood the Grey Havens, from which at times elven-ships set sail, never to return.
He believed he had once seen an Elf in the woods, and still hoped to see more one day.
Of all the legends that he had heard in his early years such fragments of tales and half-remembered stories about the Elves as the hobbits knew, had always moved him most deeply.
Baggins now, that I work for.
He told me that they were sailing and he knows a bit about Elves.
Sam sat silent and said no more.
He had a good deal to think about.
For one thing, there was a lot to do up in the Bag End garden, and he would have a busy day tomorrow, if the weather cleared.
The grass was growing fast.
But Sam had more on his mind than gardening.
After a while he sighed, and got up and went out.
It was early April and the sky was now clearing after heavy rain.
The sun was down, and a cool pale evening was quietly fading into night.
He walked home under the early stars through Hobbiton and up the Hill, whistling softly and thoughtfully.
It was just at this time that Gandalf reappeared after his long absence.
For three years after the Party he had been away.
Then he paid Frodo a brief visit, and after taking a good look at him he went off again.
During the next year or two he had turned up fairly often, coming unexpectedly after dusk, and going off without warning before sunrise.
Then suddenly his visits had ceased.
It was over nine years since Frodo had seen or heard of him, and he had begun to think that the wizard would never return and had given up all interest in hobbits.
But that evening, as Sam was walking home and twilight was fading, there came the once familiar tap on the study window.
Frodo welcomed his old friend with surprise and great delight.
They looked hard at one another.
He pressed him for news lord of the rings book 2 free online himself and of the wide world, and soon they were deep in talk, and they stayed up far into the night.
Next morning after a late breakfast, the wizard was sitting with Frodo by the open window of the study.
A bright fire was on the hearth, but the sun was warm, and the wind was in the South.
Gandalf was thinking of a spring, nearly eighty years before, when Bilbo had run out of Bag End without a handkerchief.
His hair was perhaps whiter than it had been then, and his beard and eyebrows were perhaps longer, and his face more lined with care and wisdom; but his eyes were as bright as ever, and he smoked and blew smoke-rings with the same vigour and delight.
He was smoking now in silence, for Frodo was sitting still, deep in thought.
Even in the light of morning he felt the dark shadow of the tidings that Gandalf had brought.
At last he broke the silence.
You say the ring is dangerous, far more dangerous than I guess.
It is far more powerful than I ever dared to think at first, so powerful that in the end it would utterly overcome anyone of mortal race who possessed it.
It would possess him.
The lesser rings were only essays in the craft before it was full-grown, and to the Elven-smiths they were but trifles - yet still to my mind dangerous for mortals.
But the Great Rings, the Rings of Power, they were perilous.
And if he often uses the Ring to make himself invisible, he fades: he becomes in the end invisible permanently, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the dark power that rules the Rings.
Yes, sooner or later - later, if he is strong or well-meaning to begin with, but neither strength nor good purpose will last - sooner or later the dark power will devour him.
There was another long silence.
The sound of Sam Gamgee cutting the lawn came in from the garden.
He thought the ring was very beautiful, and very useful at need; and if anything was wrong or queer, it was himself.
Though he had found out that the thing needed looking after; it did not seem always of the same size or weight; it shrank or expanded in an odd way, and might suddenly slip off a finger where it had been tight.
He took all the credit for that to himself, and he was very proud of it.
Though he was getting restless and uneasy.
Thin and stretched he said.
A sign that the ring was getting control.
There is a last test to make.
But I no longer doubt my guess.
A shadow fell on my heart then, though I did not know yet what I feared.
I wondered often how Gollum came by a Great Ring, as plainly it was - that at least was clear from the first.
When I at last got the truth out of him, I saw at once that he had been trying to put his claim to the ring beyond doubt.
The lies were too much alike for my comfort.
Clearly the ring had an unwholesome power that set to work on its keeper at once.
That was the first real warning I had that reviews for books was not well.
I told Bilbo often that such rings were better left unused; but he resented it, and soon got angry.
There was little else that I could do.
I could not take it from him without doing greater harm; and I had no right to do so anyway.
I could only watch and wait.
I might perhaps have consulted Saruman the White, but something always held me back.
I have never heard of him before.
Yet he is great among the Wise.
He is the chief of my order and the head of the Council.
His knowledge is deep, but his pride has grown with it, and he takes ill any meddling.
The lore of the Elven-rings, great and small, is his province.
He has long studied it, seeking the lost secrets of their making; but when the Rings were debated in the Council, all that he would reveal to us of his ring-lore told against my fears.
So my doubt slept - but uneasily.
Still I watched and I waited.
And the years passed.
Yes, they passed, and they seemed not to touch him.
He showed no signs of age.
The shadow fell on me again.
There is time yet.
Until that night when he left this house.
He said and did things then that filled me with a fear that no words of Saruman could allay.
I knew at last that something dark and deadly was at work.
And I have spent most of the years since then in finding out the truth of it.
Be able to rest in peace, I mean?
Among the Wise I am the only one that goes in for hobbit-lore: an obscure branch of knowledge, but full of surprises.
Soft as butter they can be, and yet sometimes as tough as old tree-roots.
I think it likely that some would resist the Rings far longer than most of the Wise would believe.
Otherwise, he might live on for years, quite happily: just stop as he was when he parted with it.
For he gave it up in the end of his own accord: an important point.
No, I was not troubled about dear Bilbo any more, once he had let the thing go.
It is for you that I feel responsible.
It would be a grievous blow to the world, if the Dark Power overcame the Shire; if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bolgers, Hornblowers, Boffins, Bracegirdles, and the rest, not to mention the ridiculous Bagginses, became enslaved.
You should be thankful.
But your safety has passed.
And hobbits as miserable slaves would please him far more than hobbits happy and free.
There is such a thing as malice and revenge.
I was not sure of it myself when I was last here; but the time has come to speak.
Give me the ring for a moment.
He unfastened it and handed it slowly to the wizard.
It felt suddenly very heavy, as if either it or Frodo himself was in some way reluctant for Gandalf to touch it.
Gandalf held it up.
It looked to be made of pure and solid gold.
It is quite plain, and it never shows a scratch or sign of wear.
Frodo gave a cry and groped for the tongs; but Gandalf held him back.
No apparent change came over the ring.
After a while Gandalf got up, closed the shutters outside the window, and drew the curtains.
For a moment the wizard stood looking at the fire; then he stooped and removed the ring to the hearth with the tongs, and at once picked it up.
They shone piercingly bright, and yet remote, as if out of a great depth.
The letters are Elvish, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here.
But this in the Common Tongue is what is said, close enough: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
It is only two lines of a verse long known in Elven-lore: Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all.
One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
This is the One Ring that he lost many ages ago, to the great weakening of his power.
He greatly desires it - but he must not get it.
Fear seemed to stretch out a vast hand, like a dark cloud rising in the East and looming up to engulf him.
The beginnings lie back in the Black Years, which only the lore-masters now remember.
If I were to tell you all that tale, we should still be sitting here when Spring had passed into Winter.
The rumours that you have heard are true: he has indeed arisen again and left his hold in Mirkwood and returned to his ancient fastness in the Dark Tower of Mordor.
That name even you hobbits have heard of, like a shadow on the borders of old stories.
Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again.
But that is not for them to decide.
All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given, us.
And already, Frodo, our time is beginning to look black.
The Enemy is fast becoming very strong.
His plans are far from ripe, I think, but they are ripening.
We shall be hard put to it.
We should be very hard put to it, even if it were not for this dreadful chance.
He lacks the One Ring.
Seven the Dwarf-kings possessed, but three he has recovered, and the others the dragons have consumed.
Nine he gave to Mortal Men, proud and great, and so ensnared them.
Long ago they fell under the dominion of the One, and they became Ringwraiths, shadows under his great Shadow, his most terrible servants.
It is many a year since the Nine walked abroad.
As the Shadow grows once more, they too may walk again.
We will not speak of such things even in the morning of the Shire.
The Three are hidden still.
But that no longer troubles him.
He only needs the One; for he made that Ring himself, it is his, and he let a great part of his own former power pass into it, so that he could rule all the others.
If he recovers it, then he will command them all again, wherever they be, even the Three, and all that has been wrought with them will be laid bare, and he will be stronger than ever.
He believed that the One had perished; that the Elves had destroyed it, as should have been done.
But he knows now that it has not perished, that it has been found.
So he is seeking it, seeking it, and all his thought is bent on it.
It is his great hope and our great fear.
The Men of Westernesse came to their aid.
That is a chapter of ancient history which it might be good to recall; for there was sorrow then too, and gathering dark, but great valour, and great deeds that were not wholly vain.
One day, perhaps, I will tell you all the tale, or you shall hear it told in full by one who knows it best.
Then Sauron was vanquished and his spirit fled and was hidden for long years, until his shadow took shape again in Mirkwood.
It fell into the Great River, Anduin, and vanished.
For Isildur was marching north along the east banks of the River, and near the Gladden Fields he was waylaid by the Orcs of the Mountains, and almost all his folk were slain.
He leaped into the waters, but the Ring slipped from his finger as he swam, and then the Orcs saw him and killed him with arrows.
But at last I can carry on the story, I think.
I guess they were of hobbit-kind; akin to the fathers of the fathers of the Stoors, for they loved the River, and often swam in it, or made little boats of reeds.
There was among them a family of high repute, for it was large and wealthier than most, and it was ruled by a grandmother of the folk, stern and wise in old lore, such as they had.
The most inquisitive and curious-minded of that family was called Sméagol.
He was interested in roots and beginnings; he dived into deep pools; he burrowed under trees and growing plants; he tunnelled into green mounds; and he ceased to look up at the hill-tops, or the leaves on trees, or the flowers opening in the air: his head and his eyes were downward.
On a time they took a boat and went down to the Gladden Fields, where there were great beds of iris and flowering reeds.
There Sméagol got out and went nosing about the banks but Déagol sat in the boat and fished.
Suddenly a great fish took his hook, and before he knew where he was, he was dragged out and down into the water, to the bottom.
Then he let go of his line, for he thought he saw something shining in the river-bed; and holding his breath he grabbed at it.
But Sméagol had been watching him from behind a tree, and as Déagol gloated over the ring, Sméagol came softly up behind.
Then he put the ring on his finger.
But Sméagol returned alone; and he found that none of his family could see him, when he was wearing the ring.
He was very pleased with his discovery and he concealed it; and he used it to find out secrets, and he put his knowledge to crooked and malicious uses.
He became sharp-eyed and keen-eared for all that was hurtful.
The ring had given him power according to his stature.
It is not to be wondered at that he became very unpopular and was shunned when visible by all his relations.
They kicked him, and he bit their feet.
He took to thieving, and going about muttering to himself, and gurgling in his throat.
So they called him Gollum, and cursed him, and told him to go far away; and his grandmother, desiring peace, expelled him from the family and turned him out of her hole.
He caught fish in deep pools with invisible fingers and ate them raw.
One day it was very hot, and as he was bending over a pool, he felt a burning on the back of his head and a dazzling light from the water pained his wet eyes.
He wondered at it, for he had almost forgotten about the Sun.
Then for the last time he looked up and shook his fist at her.
The Sun could not watch me there.
The roots of those mountains must be roots indeed; there must be great secrets buried there which have not been discovered since the beginning.
The Ring went into the shadows with him, and even the maker, when his power had begun to grow again, could learn nothing of it.
Do you mean that this is the very Gollum-creature that Bilbo met?
There was a great deal in the background of their minds and memories that was very similar.
They understood one another remarkably well, very much better than a hobbit would understand, say, a Dwarf, or an Orc, or even an Elf.
Think of the riddles they both knew, for one thing.
Gollum meant to cheat all the time.
He was just trying to put poor Bilbo off his guard.
And I daresay it amused his wickedness to start a game which might end in providing him with an easy victim, but if he lost would not hurt him.
Even Gollum was not wholly ruined.
He had proved tougher than even one of the Wise would have guessed -as a hobbit might.
There was a little corner of his mind that was still his own, and light came through it, as through a chink in the dark: light out of the past.
It was actually pleasant, I think, to hear a kindly voice again, bringing up memories of wind, and trees, and sun on the grass, and such forgotten things.
Unless it could be cured.
Yet not no hope.
No, not though he possessed the Ring so long, almost as far back as he can remember.
For it was long since he had worn it much: in the black darkness it was seldom needed.
He is thin and tough still.
But the thing was eating up his mind, of course, and the torment had become almost unbearable.
He was altogether wretched.
He hated the dark, and he hated light more: he hated everything, and the Ring most of all.
He could not get rid of it.
He had no will left in the matter.
It may slip off treacherously, but its keeper never abandons it.
But as far as I know Bilbo alone in history has ever gone beyond playing, and really done it.
He needed all my help, too.
And even so he would never have just forsaken it, or cast it aside.
It was not Gollum, Frodo, but the Ring itself that decided things.
The Ring left him.
The Ring was trying to get back to its master.
It could make no further use of him: he was too small and mean; and as long as it stayed with him he would never leave his deep pool again.
So now, when its master was awake once more and sending out his dark thought from Mirkwood, it abandoned Gollum.
Only to be picked up by the most unlikely person imaginable: Bilbo from the Shire!
I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker.
In which case you also were meant to have it.
And that maybe an encouraging thought.
But how have you learned all this about the Ring, and about Gollum?
Do you really know it all, or are you just guessing still?
The history of Elendil and Isildur and the One Ring is known to all the Wise.
Your ring is shown to be that One Ring by the fire-writing alone, apart from any other evidence.
I have come back from dark journeys and long search to make that final test.
It is the last proof, and all is now only too clear.
I may have started with guesses about Gollum, but I am not guessing now.
I have seen him.
The obvious thing to do, of course, if one could.
I tried long ago; but I have managed it at last.
Do you know that?
What I have told you is what Gollum was willing to tell - though not, of course, in the way I have reported it.
Gollum is a liar, and you have to sift his words.

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Free download or read online The Lord of the Rings pdf (ePUB) book. The first edition of this novel was published in October 20th 1955, and was written by J.R.R. Tolkien. The book was published in multiple languages including English language, consists of 1216 pages and is available in Paperback format.


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The Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring John Ronald Reuel Tolkien The Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring 1954 © J.
Tolkien, 1954 E-Text: Greylib Contents Foreword This tale grew in the telling, until it became a history of the Great War of the Ring and included many glimpses of the yet more ancient history that preceded it.
It was begun soon after The Hobbit was written and before its publication in 1937; but I did not go on with this sequel, for I wished first to complete and set in order the mythology and legends of the Elder Days, which had then been taking shape for some years.
I desired to do this for my own satisfaction, and I had little hope that other people would be interested in this work, especially since it was primarily linguistic in inspiration and was begun in order to provide the necessary background of 'history' for Elvish tongues.
When those whose advice and opinion I sought corrected little hope to no hope, I went back to the sequel, encouraged by requests from readers for more information concerning hobbits and their adventures.
But the story was drawn irresistibly towards the older world, and became an account, as it were, of its end and passing away before its beginning and middle had been told.
The process had begun in the writing of The Hobbit, in which there were already some references to the older matter: Elrond, Gondolin, the High-elves, and the orcs, as well as glimpses that had arisen unbidden of things higher or deeper or darker than its surface: Durin, Moria, Gandalf, the Necromancer, the Ring.
The discovery of the significance of these glimpses and of their relation to the ancient histories revealed the Third Age and its culmination in the War of the Ring.
Those who had asked for more information about hobbits eventually got it, but they had to wait a long time; for the composition of The Lord of the Rings went on at intervals during the years 1936 to 1949, a period in which I had many duties that I did not neglect, and many other interests as a learner and teacher that often absorbed me.
The delay was, of course, also increased by the outbreak of war in 1939, by the end of which year the tale had not yet reached the end of Book One.
In spite of the darkness of the next five years I found that the story could not now be wholly abandoned, and I plodded on, mostly by night, till I stood by Balin's tomb in Moria.
There I halted for a long while.
It was almost a year later when I went on and so came to Lothlórien and the Great River late in 1941.
In the next year I wrote the first drafts of the matter that now stands as Book Three, and the beginnings of chapters I and III of Book Five; and there as the beacons flared in Anórien and Théoden came to Harrowdale I stopped.
Foresight had failed and there was no time for thought.
It was during 1944 that, leaving the loose ends and perplexities of a war which it was my task to conduct, or at least to report, I forced myself to tackle the journey of Frodo to Mordor.
These chapters, eventually to become Book Four, were written and sent out as a serial to my son, Christopher, then in South Africa with the RAF.
Nonetheless it took another five years before the tale was brought to its present end; in that time I changed my house, my chair, and my college, and the days though less dark were no less laborious.
Then when the 'end' had at last been reached the whole story had to be revised, and indeed largely re-written backwards.
And it had to be typed, and re-typed: by me; the cost of professional typing by the ten-fingered was beyond my means.
The Lord of the Rings has been read by many people since it finally appeared in print; and I should like to say something here with reference to the many opinions or guesses that I have received or have read concerning the motives and meaning of the tale.
The prime motive was the desire of a tale-teller to try his hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight phrase barber game time books excellent, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them.
As a guide I had only my own feelings for what is appealing or moving, and for many the guide was inevitably often at fault.
Some who have read the book, or at any rate have reviewed it, have found it boring, absurd, or contemptible; and I have no cause to complain, since I have similar opinions of their works, or of the kinds of writing that they evidently prefer.
But even from the points of view of many who have enjoyed my story there is much that fails to please.
It is perhaps not possible in a long tale to please everybody at all points, nor to displease everybody at the same points; for I find from the letters that I have received that the passages or chapters that are to some a blemish are all by others specially approved.
The most critical reader of all, myself, now finds many defects, minor and major, but being fortunately under no obligation either to review the book or to write it again, he will pass over these in silence, except one that has been noted by others: the book is too short.
As for any inner meaning or 'message', it has in the intention of the author none.
It is neither allegorical nor topical.
As the story grew it put down roots into the past and threw out unexpected branches: but its main theme was settled from the outset by the inevitable choice of the Ring as the link between it and The Hobbit.
The crucial chapter, "The Shadow of the Past', is one of the oldest parts of the tale.
It was written long before the foreshadow of 1939 had yet become a threat of inevitable disaster, and from that point the story would have developed along essentially the same lines, if that disaster had been averted.
Its sources are things long before in mind, or in some cases already written, and little or nothing in it was modified by the war that began in 1939 or its sequels.
The real war does not resemble the legendary war in its process or its conclusion.
If it had inspired or directed the development of the legend, then certainly the Ring would have been seized and used against Sauron; he would not have been annihilated but enslaved, and Barad-dûr would not have been destroyed but occupied.
Saruman, failing to get possession of the Ring, would in the confusion and treacheries of the time have found in Mordor the missing links in his own researches into Ring-lore, and before long he would have made a Great Ring of his own with which to challenge the self-styled Ruler of Middle-earth.
In that conflict both sides would have held hobbits in hatred and contempt: they would not long have survived even as slaves.
Other arrangements could be devised according to the tastes or views of those who like allegory or topical reference.
But I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence.
I much prefer history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers.
I think that many confuse 'applicability' with 'allegory'; but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purposed domination of the author.
An author cannot of course remain wholly unaffected by his experience, but the ways in which a story-germ uses the soil of experience are extremely complex, and attempts to define the process are at best guesses from evidence that is inadequate and ambiguous.
It is also false, though naturally attractive, when the lives of an author and critic have overlapped, to suppose that the movements of thought or the events of times common to both were necessarily the most powerful influences.
One has indeed personally to come under the shadow of war to feel fully its oppression; but as the years go by it seems now often forgotten that to be caught in youth by 1914 was no less hideous an experience than to be involved in 1939 and the following years.
By 1918 all but one of my close friends were dead.
Or to take a less grievous matter: it has been supposed by some that 'The Scouring of the Shire' reflects the situation in England at the time when I was finishing my tale.
It is an essential part of the plot, foreseen from the outset, though in the event modified by the character of Saruman as developed in the story without, need I say, any allegorical significance or contemporary political reference whatsoever.
It has indeed some basis in experience, though slender for the economic situation was entirely differentand much further back.
The country in which I lived in childhood was being shabbily destroyed before I was ten, in days when motor-cars were rare objects I had never seen one and men were still building suburban railways.
Recently I saw in a paper a picture of the last decrepitude of the once thriving corn-mill beside its pool that long ago seemed to me so important.
I never liked the looks of the Young miller, but his father, the Old miller, had a black beard, and he was not named Sandyman.
The Lord of the Rings is now issued in a new edition, and the opportunity has been taken of revising it.
A number of errors and inconsistencies that still remained in the text have been corrected, and an attempt has been made to provide information on a few points which attentive readers have raised.
I have considered all their comments and enquiries, and if some seem to have been passed over that may be because I have failed to keep my notes in order; but many enquiries could only be answered by additional appendices, or indeed by the production of an accessory volume containing much of the material that I did not include in the original edition, in particular more detailed linguistic information.
In the meantime this edition offers this Foreword, an addition to the Prologue, some notes, and an index of the names of persons and places.
This index is in intention complete in items but not in references, since for the present purpose it has been necessary to reduce its bulk.
A complete index, making full use of the material prepared for me by Mrs.
Smith, belongs rather to the accessory volume.
Concerning Hobbits This book is largely concerned with Hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history.
Further information will also be found in the selection from the Red Book of Westmarch that has already been published, under the title of The Hobbit.
That story was derived from the earlier chapters of the Red Book, composed by Bilbo himself, the first Hobbit to become famous in the world at large, and called by him There and Back Again, since they told of his journey into the East and his return: an adventure which later involved all the Hobbits in the great events of that Age that are here related.
Many, however, may wish to know more about this remarkable people from the outset, while some may not possess the earlier book.
For such readers a few notes on the more important points are here collected from Hobbit-lore, and the first adventure is briefly recalled.
Hobbits are an unobtrusive but very ancient people, more numerous formerly than they are today; for they love peace and quiet and good tilled earth: a well-ordered and well-farmed countryside was their favourite haunt.
They do not and did not understand or like machines more complicated than a forge-bellows, a water-mill, or a hand-loom, though they were skilful with tools.
Even in ancient days they were, as a rule, shy of 'the Big Folk', as they call us, and now they avoid us with dismay and are becoming hard to find.
They are quick of hearing and sharp-eyed, and though they are inclined to be fat and do not hurry unnecessarily, they are nonetheless nimble and deft in their movements.
They possessed from the first the art of disappearing swiftly and silently, when large folk whom they do not wish to meet come blundering by; and this an they have developed until to Men it may seem magical.
But Hobbits have never, in fact, studied magic of any kind, and their elusiveness is due solely to a professional skill that heredity and practice, and a close friendship with the earth, have rendered inimitable by bigger and clumsier races.
For they are a little people, smaller than Dwarves: less tout and stocky, that is, even when they are not actually much shorter.
Their height is variable, ranging between two and four feet of our measure.
They seldom now reach three feet; but they hive dwindled, they say, and in ancient days they were taller.
According to the Red Book, Bandobras Took Bullroarerson of Isengrim the Second, was four foot five and able to ride a horse.
He was surpassed in all Hobbit records only by two famous characters of old; but that curious matter is dealt with in this book.
As for the Hobbits of the Shire, with whom these tales are concerned, in the days of their peace and prosperity they were a merry folk.
They dressed in bright colours, being notably fond of yellow and green; but they seldom wore shoes, since their feet had tough leathery soles and were clad in a thick curling hair, much like the hair of their heads, which was commonly brown.
Thus, the only craft little practised among them was shoe-making; but they had long and skilful fingers and could make many other useful and comely things.
Their faces were as a rule good-natured rather than beautiful, broad, bright-eyed, red-cheeked, with mouths apt to laughter, and to eating and drinking.
And laugh they did, and eat, and drink, often and heartily, being fond of simple jests at all times, and of six meals a day when they could get them.
They were hospitable and delighted in parties, and in presents, which they gave away freely and eagerly accepted.
It is plain indeed that in spite of later estrangement Hobbits are relatives of ours: far nearer to us than Elves, or even than Dwarves.
Of old they spoke the languages of Men, after their own fashion, and liked and disliked much the same things as Men did.
But what exactly our relationship is can no longer be discovered.
The beginning of Hobbits lies far back in the Elder Days that are now lost and forgotten.
Only the Elves still preserve any records of that vanished time, and their traditions are concerned almost entirely with their own history, in which Men appear seldom and Hobbits are not mentioned at all.
Yet it is clear that Hobbits had, in fact, lived quietly in Middle-earth for many long years before other folk became even aware of them.
And the world being after all full of strange creatures beyond count, these little people seemed of very little importance.
But in the days of Bilbo, and of Frodo his heir, they suddenly became, by no wish of their own, both important and renowned, and troubled the counsels of the Wise and the Great.
Those days, the Third Age of Middle-earth, are now long past, and the shape of all lands has been changed; but the regions in which Hobbits then lived were doubtless the same as those in which they still linger: the North-West of the Old World, east of the Sea.
Of their original home the Hobbits in Bilbo's time preserved no knowledge.
A love of learning other than genealogical lore was far from general among them, but there remained still a few in the older families who studied their own books, and even gathered reports of old times and distant lands from Elves, Dwarves, and Men.
Their own records began only after the settlement of the Shire, and their most ancient legends hardly looked further back than their Wandering Days.
It is clear, nonetheless, from these legends, and from the evidence of their peculiar words and customs, that like many other folk Hobbits had in the distant past moved westward.
Their earliest tales seem to glimpse a time when they dwelt in the upper vales of Anduin, between the eaves of Greenwood the Great and the Misty Mountains.
Why they later undertook the hard and perilous crossing of the mountains into Eriador is no longer certain.
Their own accounts speak of the multiplying of Men in the land, and of a shadow that fell on the forest, so that it became darkened and its new name was Mirkwood.
Before the crossing of the mountains the Hobbits had already become divided into three somewhat different breeds: Harfoots, Stoors, and Fallohides.
The Harfoots were browner of skin, smaller, and shorter, and they were beardless and bootless; their hands and feet were neat and nimble; and they preferred highlands and hillsides.
The Stoors were broader, heavier in build; their feet and hands were larger, and they preferred flat lands and riversides.
The Fallohides were fairer of skin and also of hair, and they were taller and slimmer than the others; they were lovers of trees and of woodlands.
The Harfoots had much to do with Dwarves in ancient times, and long lived in the foothills of the mountains.
They moved westward early, and roamed over Eriador as far as Weathertop while the others were still in the Wilderland.
They were the most normal and representative variety of Hobbit, and far the most numerous.
They were the most inclined to settle in one place, and longest preserved their ancestral habit of living in tunnels and holes.
The Stoors lingered long by the banks of the Great River Anduin, and were less shy of Men.
They came west after the Harfoots and followed the course of the Loudwater southwards; and there many of them long dwelt between Tharbad and the borders of Dunland before they moved north again.
The Fallohides, the least numerous, were a northerly branch.
They were more friendly with Elves than the other Hobbits were, and had more skill in language and song than in handicrafts; and of old they preferred hunting to tilling.
They crossed the mountains north of Rivendell and came down the River Hoarwell.
In Eriador they soon mingled with the other kinds that had preceded them, but being somewhat bolder and more adventurous, they were often found as leaders or chieftains among clans of Harfoots or Stoors.
Even in Bilbo's time the strong Fallohidish strain could still be noted among the greater families, such as the Tooks and the Masters of Buckland.
In the westlands of Eriador, between the Misty Mountains and the Mountains of Lune, the Hobbits found both Men and Elves.
Indeed, a remnant still dwelt there of the Dúnedain, the kings of Men that came over the Sea out of Westernesse; but they were dwindling fast and the lands of their The ritz casino online booking Kingdom were falling far and wide into waste.
There was room and to spare for incomers, and ere long the Hobbits began to settle in ordered communities.
Most of their earlier settlements had long disappeared and been forgotten in Bilbo's time; but one of the first to become important still endured, though reduced in size; this was at Bree and in the Chetwood that lay round about, some forty miles east of the Shire.
It was in these early days, doubtless, that the Hobbits learned their letters and began to write after the manner of the Dúnedain, who had in their turn long before learned the art from the Elves.
And in those days also they forgot whatever languages they had used before, and spoke ever after the Common Speech, the Westron as it was named, that was current through all the lands of the kings from Arnor to Gondor, and about all the coasts of the Sea from Belfalas to Lune.
Yet they kept a few words of their own, as well as their own names of months and days, and a great store of personal names out of the past.
About this time legend among the Hobbits first becomes history with a reckoning of years.
For it was in the one thousand six hundred and first year of the Third Age that the Fallohide brothers, Marcho and Blanco, set out from Bree; and having obtained permission from the high king at Fornost, they crossed the brown river Baranduin with a great following of Hobbits.
They passed over the Bridge of Stonebows, that had been built in the days of the power of the North Kingdom, and they took ail the land beyond to dwell in, between the river and the Far Downs.
All that was demanded of them was that they should keep the Great Bridge in repair, and all other bridges and roads, speed the king's messengers, and acknowledge his lordship.
Thus began the Shire-reckoning, for the year of the crossing of the Brandywine as the Hobbits turned the name became Year One of the Shire, and all later dates were reckoned from it.
At once the western Hobbits fell in love with their new land, and they remained there, and soon passed once more out of the history of Men and of Elves.
While there was still a king they were in name his subjects, but they were, in fact, ruled by their own chieftains and meddled not at all with events in the world outside.
To the last battle at Fornost with the Witch-lord of Angmar they sent some bowmen to the aid of the king, or so they maintained, though no tales of Men record it.
But in that war the North Kingdom ended; and then the Hobbits took the land for their own, and they chose from their own chiefs a Thain to hold the authority of the king that was gone.
There for a thousand years they were little troubled by wars, and they prospered and multiplied after the Dark Plague S.
Many thousands then perished, but the Days of Dearth 1158-60 were at the time of this tale long past and the Hobbits had again become accustomed to plenty.
The land was rich and kindly, and though it had long been deserted when they entered it, it had before been well tilled, and there the king had once had many farms, cornlands, vineyards, and woods.
Forty leagues it stretched from the Far Downs to the Brandywine Bridge, and fifty from the northern moors to the marshes in the south.
The Hobbits named it the Shire, as the region of the authority of their Thain, and a district of well-ordered business; and there in that pleasant comer of the world they plied their well-ordered business of living, and they heeded less and less the world outside where dark things moved, until they came to think that peace and plenty were the rule in Middle-earth and the right of all sensible folk.
They forgot or ignored what little they had ever known of the Guardians, and of the labours of those that made possible the long peace of the Shire.
They were, in fact, sheltered, but they had ceased to remember it.
At no time had Hobbits of any kind been warlike, and they had never fought among themselves.
In olden days they had, of course, been often obliged to fight to maintain themselves in a hard world; but in Bilbo's time that was very ancient history.
The last battle, before this story opens, and indeed the only one that had ever been fought within the borders of the Shire, was beyond living memory: the Battle of Greenfields, S.
Even the weathers had grown milder, and the wolves that had once come ravening out of the North in bitter white winters were now only a grandfather's tale.
So, though there was still some store of weapons in the Shire, these were used mostly as trophies, hanging above hearths or on walls, or gathered into the museum at Michel Delving.
The Mathom-house it was called; for anything that Hobbits had no immediate use for, but were unwilling to throw away, they called a mathom.
Their dwellings were apt to become rather crowded with mathoms, and many of the presents that passed from hand to hand were of that sort.
Nonetheless, ease and peace had left this people still curiously tough.
They were, if it came to it, difficult to daunt or to kill; and they were, perhaps, so unwearyingly fond of good things not least because they could, when put to it, do without them, and could survive rough handling by grief, foe, or weather in a way that astonished congratulate, books about online games addiction confirm who did not know them well and looked no further than their bellies and their well-fed faces.
Though slow to quarrel, and for sport killing nothing that lived, they were doughty at bay, and at need could still handle arms.
They shot well with the bow, for they were keen-eyed and sure at the mark.
Not only with bows and arrows.
If any Hobbit stooped for a stone, it was well to get quickly under cover, as all trespassing beasts knew very well.
All Hobbits had originally lived in holes in the ground, or so they believed, and in such dwellings they still felt most at home; but in the course of time they had been obliged to adopt other forms of abode.
Actually in the Shire in Bilbo's days it was, as a rule, only the richest and the poorest Hobbits that maintained the old custom.
The poorest went on living in burrows of the most primitive kind, mere holes indeed, with only one window or none; while the well-to-do still constructed more luxurious versions of the simple diggings of old.
But suitable sites for these large and ramifying tunnels or smials as they called them were not everywhere to be found; and in the flats and the low-lying districts the Hobbits, as they multiplied, began to build above ground.
Indeed, even in the hilly regions and the older villages, such as Hobbiton or Tuckborough, or in the chief township of the Shire, Michel Delving on the White Downs, there were now many houses of wood, brick, or stone.
These were specially favoured by millers, smiths, ropers, and cartwrights, and others of that sort; for even when they had holes to live in.
Hobbits had long been accustomed to build sheds and workshops.
The habit of building farmhouses and barns was said to have begun among the inhabitants of the Marish down by the Brandywine.
The Hobbits of that quarter, the Eastfarthing, were rather large and heavy-legged, and they wore dwarf-boots in muddy weather.
But they were well known to be Stoors in a large part of their blood, as indeed was shown by the down that many grew on their chins.
No Harfoot or Fallohide had any trace of a beard.
Indeed, the folk of the Marish, and of Buckland, east of the River, which they afterwards occupied, came for the most part later into the Shire up from south-away; and they still had many peculiar names and strange words not found elsewhere in the Shire.
It is probable that the craft of building, as many other crafts beside, was derived from the Dúnedain.
But the Hobbits may have learned it direct from the Elves, the teachers of Men in their youth.
For the Elves of the High Kindred had not yet forsaken Middle-earth, and they dwelt still at that time at the Grey Havens away to the west, and in other places within reach of the Shire.
Three Elf-towers of immemorial age were still to be seen on the Tower Hills beyond the western marches.
They shone far off in the moonlight.
The tallest was furthest away, standing alone upon a green mound.
The Hobbits of the Westfarthing said that one could see the Sea from the lop of that tower; but no Hobbit had ever been known to climb it.
Indeed, few Hobbits had ever seen or sailed upon the Sea, and fewer still had ever returned to report it.
Most Hobbits regarded even rivers and small boats with deep misgivings, and not many of them could swim.
And as the days of the Shire lengthened they spoke less and less with the Elves, and grew afraid of them, and distrustful of those that had dealings with them; and the Sea became a word of fear among them, and a token of death, and they turned their faces away from the hills in the west.
The craft of building may have come from Elves or Men, but the Hobbits used it in their own fashion.
They did not go in for towers.
Their houses were usually long, low, and comfortable.
The oldest kind were, indeed, no more than built imitations of smials, thatched with dry grass or straw, or roofed with turves, and having walls somewhat bulged.
That stage, however, belonged to the early days of the Shire, and hobbit-building had long since been altered, improved by devices, learned from Dwarves, or discovered by themselves.
A preference for round windows, and even round doors, was the chief remaining peculiarity of hobbit-architecture.
The houses and the holes of Shire-hobbits were often large, and inhabited by large families.
Bilbo and Frodo Baggins were as bachelors very exceptional, as they were also in many other ways, such as their friendship with the Elves.
Sometimes, as in the case of the Tooks of Great Smials, or the Brandybucks of Brandy Hall, many generations of relatives lived in comparative peace together in one ancestral and many-tunnelled mansion.
All Hobbits were, in any case, clannish and reckoned up their relationships with great care.
They drew long and elaborate family-trees with innumerable branches.
In dealing with Hobbits it is important to remember who is related to whom, and in what degree.
It would be impossible in this book to set out a family-tree that included even the more important members of the more important families at the time which these tales tell of.
The genealogical trees at the end of the Red Book of Westmarch are a small book in themselves, and all but Hobbits would find them exceedingly dull.
Hobbits delighted in such things, if they were accurate: they liked to have books filled with things that they already knew, set out fair and square with no contradictions.
Concerning Pipe-weed There is another astonishing thing about Hobbits of old that must be mentioned, an astonishing habit: they imbibed or inhaled, through pipes of clay or wood, the smoke of the burning leaves of a herb, which they called pipe-weed or leaf, a variety probably of Nicotiana.
A great deal of mystery surrounds the origin of this peculiar custom, or 'art' as the Hobbits preferred to call it.
All that could be discovered about it in antiquity was put together by Meriadoc Brandybuck later Master of Bucklandand since he and the tobacco of the Southfarthing play a part in the history that follows, his remarks in the introduction to his Herblore of the Shire may be quoted.
When Hobbits first began to smoke is please click for source known, all the legends and family histories take it for granted; for ages folk in the Shire smoked various herbs, some fouler, some sweeter.
But all accounts agree that Tobold Hornblower of Longbottom in the Southfarthing first grew the true pipe-weed in his gardens in the days of Isengrim the Second, about the year 1070 of Shire-reckoning.
The best home-grown still comes from that district, especially the varieties now known as Longbottom Leaf, Old Toby, and Southern Star.
He knew much about herbs, but he was no traveller.
It is said that in his youth he went often to Bree, though he certainly never went further from the Shire than that.
It is thus quite possible that he learned of this plant in Bree, where now, at any rate, it grows well on the south slopes of the hill.
The Bree-hobbits claim to have been the first actual smokers of the pipe-weed.
They claim, of course, to have done everything before the people of the Shire, whom they refer to as "colonists"; but in this case their claim is, I think, likely to be true.
And certainly it was from Bree that the art of smoking the genuine weed spread in the recent centuries among Dwarves and such other folk, Rangers, Wizards, or wanderers, as still passed to and fro through that ancient road-meeting.
The home and centre of the an is thus to be found in the old inn of Bree, The Prancing Pony, that has been kept by the family of Butterbur from time beyond record.
It grows abundantly in Gondor, and there is richer and larger than in the North, where it is never found wild, and flourishes only in warm sheltered places like Longbottom.
The Men of Gondor call it sweet galenas, and esteem it only for the fragrance of its flowers.
From that land it must have been carried up the Greenway during the long centuries between the coming of Elendil and our own day.
But even the Dúnedain of Gondor allow us this credit: Hobbits first put it into pipes.
Not even the Wizards first thought of that before we did.
Though one Wizard that I knew took up the art long ago, and became as skilful in it as in all other things that he put his mind to.
Of the Ordering of the Shire The Shire was divided into four quarters, the Farthings already referred to.
North, South, East, and West; and these again each into a number of folklands, which think, my little pony coloring book games online something bore the names of some of the old leading families, although by the time of this history these names were no longer found only in their proper folklands.
Nearly all Tooks still lived in the Tookland, but that was not true of many other families, such as the Bagginses or the Boffins.
Outside the Farthings were the East and West Marches: the Buckland see beginning of Chapter V, Book I ; and the Westmarch added to the Shire in S.
The Shire at this time had hardly any 'government'.
Families for the most part managed their own affairs.
Growing food and eating it occupied most of their time.
In other matters they were, as a rule, generous and not greedy, but contented and moderate, so that estates, farms, workshops, and small trades tended to remain unchanged for generations.
There remained, of course, the ancient tradition concerning the high king at Fornost, or Norbury as they called it, away north of the Shire.
But there had been no king for nearly a thousand years, and even the ruins of Kings' Norbury were covered with grass.
Yet the Hobbits still said of wild folk and wicked things such as trolls that they had not heard of the king.
For they attributed to the king of old all their essential laws; and usually they kept the laws of free will, because they were The Rules as they saidboth ancient and just.
It is true that the Took family had long been pre-eminent; for the office of Thain had passed to them from the Oldbucks some centuries before, and the chief Took had borne that title ever since.
The Thain was the master of the Shire-moot, and captain of the Shire-muster and the Hobbitry-in-arms, but as muster and moot were only held in times of emergency, which no longer occurred, the Thainship had ceased to be more than a nominal dignity.
The Took family was still, indeed, accorded a special respect, for it remained both numerous and exceedingly wealthy, and was liable to produce in every generation strong characters of peculiar habits and even adventurous temperament.
The latter qualities, however, were now rather tolerated in the rich than generally approved.
The custom endured, nonetheless, of referring to the head of the family as The Took, and of adding to his name, if required, a number: such as Isengrim the Second, for instance.
The only real official in the Shire at this date was the Mayor of Michel Delving or of the Shirewho was elected every seven years at the Free Fair on the White Downs at the Lithe, that is at Midsummer.
As mayor almost his only duty was to preside at banquets, given on the Shire-holidays, which occurred at frequent intervals.
But the offices of Postmaster and First Shirriff were attached to the mayoralty, so that he managed both the Messenger Service and the Watch.
These were the only Shire-services, and the Messengers were the most numerous, and much the busier of the two.
By no means all Hobbits were lettered, but those who were wrote constantly to all their friends and a selection of their relations who lived further off than an afternoon's walk.
The Shirriffs was the name that the Hobbits gave to their police, or the nearest equivalent that they possessed.
They had, of course, no uniforms such things being quite unknownonly a feather in their caps; and they were in practice rather haywards than policemen, more concerned with the strayings of beasts than of people.
There were in all the Shire only twelve of them, three in each Farthing, for Inside Work.
A rather larger body, varying at need, was employed to 'beat the bounds', and to see that Outsiders of any kind, great or small, did not make themselves a nuisance.
At the time when this story begins the Bounders, as they were called, had been greatly increased.
There were many reports and complaints of strange persons and creatures prowling about the borders, or over them: the first sign that all was not quite as it should be, and always had been except in tales and legends of long ago.
Few heeded the sign, and not even Bilbo yet had any notion of what it portended.
Sixty years had passed since he set out on his memorable journey, and he was old even for Hobbits, who reached a hundred as often as not; but much evidently still remained of the considerable wealth that he had brought back.
How much or how little he revealed to no one, not even to Frodo his favourite 'nephew'.
And he still kept secret the ring that he bad found.
Of the Finding of the Ring As is told in The Hobbit, there came one day to Bilbo's door the great Wizard, Gandalf the Grey, and thirteen dwarves with him: none other, indeed, than Thorin Oakenshield, descendant of kings, and his twelve companions in exile.
With them he set out, to his own lasting astonishment, on a morning of April, it being then the year 1341 Shire-reckoning, on a quest of great treasure, the dwarf-hoards of the Kings under the Mountain, beneath Erebor in Dale, far off in the East.
The quest was successful, and the Dragon that guarded the hoard was destroyed.
Yet, though before all was won the Battle of Five Armies was fought, and Thorin was slain, and many deeds of renown were done, the matter would scarcely have concerned later history, or earned more than a note in the long annals of the Third Age, but for an 'accident' by the way.
The party was assailed by Orcs in a high pass of the Misty Mountains as they went towards Wilderland; and so it happened that Bilbo was lost for a while in the black orc-mines deep under the mountains, and there, as he groped in vain in the dark, he put his hand on a ring, lying on the floor of a tunnel.
He put it in his pocket.
It seemed then like mere luck.
Trying to find his way out.
Bilbo went on down to the roots of the mountains, until he could go no further.
At the bottom of the tunnel lay a cold lake far from the light, and on an island of rock in the water lived Gollum.
He was a loathsome little creature: he paddled a small boat with his large flat feet, peering with pale luminous eyes and catching blind fish with his long fingers, and eating them raw.
He ate any living thing, even orc, if he could catch it and strangle it without a struggle.
He possessed a secret treasure that had come to him long ages ago, when he still lived in the light: a ring of gold that made its wearer invisible.
It was the one thing he loved, his 'precious', and he talked to it, even when it was not with him.
For he kept it hidden safe in a hole on his island, except when he was hunting or spying on the ores of the mines.
Maybe he would have attacked Bilbo at once, if the ring had been on him when they met; but it was not, and the hobbit held in his hand an Elvish knife, which served him as a sword.
So to gain time Gollum challenged Bilbo to the Riddle-game, saying that if he asked a riddle which Bilbo could not guess, then he would kill him and eat him; but if Bilbo defeated him, then he would do as Bilbo wished: he would lead him to a way out of the tunnels.
Since he was lost in the dark without hope, and could neither go on nor back.
Bilbo accepted the challenge; and they asked one another many riddles.
In the end Bilbo won the game, more by luck as it seemed than by wits; for he was stumped at last for a riddle to ask, and cried out, as his hand came upon the ring he lad picked up and forgotten: What haw I got in my pocket?
This Gollum failed to answer, though he demanded three guesses.
The Authorities, it is true, differ whether this last question was a mere 'question' and not a 'riddle' according to the strict rules of the Game; but all agree that, after accepting it and trying to guess the answer, Gollum was bound by his promise.
And Bilbo pressed him to keep his word; for the thought came to him that this slimy creature might prove false, even though such promises were held sacred, and of old all but the wickedest things feared to break them.
He slipped away, and returned to the island, of which Bilbo knew nothing, not far off in the dark water.
There, he thought, lay his ring.
He was hungry now, and angry, and once his 'precious' was with him he would not fear any weapon at all.
But the ring was not on the island; he had lost it, it was gone.
His screech sent a shiver down Bilbo's back, though he did not yet understand what had happened.
But Gollum had at last leaped to a guess, too late.
What has it got in its pocketses?
The light in his eyes was like a green flame as he sped back to murder the hobbit and recover his 'precious'.
Just in time Bilbo saw his peril, and he fled blindly up the passage away from the water; and once more he was saved by his luck.
For just as he ran he put his hand in his pocket, and the ring slipped quietly on to his finger.
Warily Bilbo followed him, as he went along, cursing, and talking to himself about his 'precious'; from which talk at last even Bilbo guessed the truth, and hope came to him in the darkness: he himself had found the marvellous ring and a chance of escape from the orcs and from Gollum.
At length they came to a halt before an unseen opening that led to the lower gates of the mines, on the eastward side of the mountains.
There Gollum crouched at bay, smelling and listening; and Bilbo was tempted to slay him with his sword.
But pity stayed him, and though he kept the ring, in which his only hope lay, he would not use it to help him kill the wretched creature at a disadvantage.
In the end, gathering his courage, he leaped over Gollum in the dark, and fled away down the passage, pursued by his enemy's cries of hate and despair: Thief, thief!
We hates it for ever!
Now it is a curious fact that this is not the story as Bilbo first told it to his companions.
To them his account was that Gollum had promised to give him a present, if he won the game; but when Gollum went to fetch it from his island he found the treasure was gone: a magic ring, which had been given to him long ago on his birthday.
Bilbo guessed that this was the very ring that he had found, and as he had won the game, it was already his by right.
But being in a tight place, he said nothing about it, and made Gollum show him the way out, as a reward instead of a present.
This account Bilbo set down in his memoirs, and he seems never to have altered it himself, not even after the Council of Elrond.
Evidently it still appeared in the original Red Book, as it did in several of the copies and abstracts.
But many copies contain the true account as an alternativederived no doubt from notes by Frodo or Samwise, both of whom learned the truth, though they seem to have been unwilling to delete anything actually written by the old hobbit himself.
Gandalf, however, disbelieved Bilbo's first story, as soon as he heard it, and he continued to be very curious about the ring.
Eventually he got the true tale out of Bilbo after much questioning, which for a while strained their friendship; but the wizard seemed to think the truth important.
Though he did not say so to Bilbo, he also thought it important, and disturbing, to find that the good hobbit had not told the truth from the first: quite contrary to his habit.
The idea of a 'present' was not mere hobbitlike invention, all the same.
It was suggested to Bilbo, as he confessed, by Gollum's talk that he overheard; for Gollum did, in fact, call the ring his 'birthday present', many times.
That also Gandalf thought strange and suspicious; but he did not discover the truth in this point for many more years, as will be seen in this book.
Of Bilbo's later adventures little more need be said here.
With the help of the ring he escaped from the orc-guards at the gate and rejoined his companions.
He used the ring many times on his quest, chiefly for the help of his friends; but he kept it secret from them as long as he could.
After his return to his home he never spoke of it again to anyone, save Gandalf and Frodo; and no one else in the Shire knew of its existence, or so he believed.
Only to Frodo did he show the account of his Journey that he was writing.
His sword, Sting, Bilbo hung over his fireplace, and his coat of marvellous mail, the gift of the Dwarves from the Dragon-hoard, he lent to a museum, to the Michel Delving Mathom-house in fact.
But he kept in a drawer at Bag End the old cloak and hood that he had worn on his travels; and the ring, secured by a fine chain, remained in his pocket.
He returned to his home at Bag End on June the 22nd in his fifty-second year S.
Baggins began the preparations for the celebration of his hundred-and-eleventh birthday S.
At this point this History begins.
Note on the shire records At the end of the Third Age the part played by the Hobbits in the great events that led to the inclusion of the Shire in the Reunited Kingdom awakened among them a more widespread interest in their own history; and many of their traditions, up to that time still mainly oral, were collected and Written down.
The greater families were also concerned with events in the Kingdom at large, and many of their members studied its ancient histories and legends.
By the end of the first century of the Fourth Age there were already to be found in the Shire several libraries that contained many historical books and records.
The largest of these collections were probably at Undertowers, at Great Smials, and remarkable, casino gratis book of ra that Brandy Hall.
This account of the end of the Third Age is drawn mainly from the Red Book of Westmarch.
That most important source for the history of the War of the Ring was so called because it was long preserved at Undertowers, the home of the Fairbairns, Wardens of the Westmarch.
It was in origin Bilbo's private diary, which he took with him to Rivendell.
Frodo brought it back to the Shire, together with many loose leaves of notes, and during S.
But annexed to it and preserved with it, probably m a single red case, were the three large volumes, bound in red leather, that Bilbo gave to him as a parting gift.
To these four volumes there was added in Westmarch a fifth containing commentaries, genealogies, and various other matter concerning the hobbit members of the Fellowship.
The original Red Book has not been preserved, but many copies were made, especially of the first volume, for the use of the descendants of the children of Master Samwise.
The most important copy, however, has a different history.
It was kept at Great Smials, but it was written in Condor, probably at the request of the great-grandson of Peregrin, and completed in S.
Its southern scribe appended this note: Findegil, King's Writer, finished this work in IV 172.
It is an exact copy in all details of the Thain's Book m Minas Tirith.
That book was a copy, made at the request of King Elessar, of the Red Book of the Periannath, and was brought to him by the Thain Peregrin when he retired to Gondor in IV 64.
The Thain's Book was thus the first copy made of the Red Book and contained much that was later omitted or lost.
In Minas Tirith it received much annotation, and many corrections, especially of names, words, and quotations in the Elvish languages; and there was added to it an abbreviated version of those parts of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen which lie outside the account of the War.
The full tale is stated to have been written by Barahir, grandson of the Steward Faramir, some time after the passing of the King.
But the chief importance of Findegil's copy is that it alone contains the whole of Bilbo's 'Translations from the Elvish'.
These three volumes were found to be a work of great skill and learning in which, between 1403 and 1418, he had used all the sources available to him in Rivendell, both living and written.
But since they were little used by Frodo, being almost entirely concerned with the Elder Days, no more is said of them here.
Since Meriadoc and Peregrin became the heads of their great families, and at the same time kept up their connexions with Rohan and Gondor, the libraries at Bucklebury and Tuckborough contained much that did not appear in the Red Book.
In Brandy Hall there were many works dealing with Eriador and the history of Rohan.
Some of these were composed or begun by Meriadoc himself, though in the Shire he was chiefly remembered for his Herblore of the Shire, and for his Reckoning of Years m which he discussed the relation of the calendars of the Shire and Bree to those of Rivendell, Gondor, and Rohan.
He also wrote a short treatise on Old Words and Names in the Shire, having special interest in discovering the kinship with the language of the Rohirrim of such 'shire-words' as mathom and old elements in place names.
At Great Smials the books were of less interest to Shire-folk, though more important for larger history.
None of them was written by Peregrin, but he and his successors collected many manuscripts written by scribes of Gondor: mainly copies or summaries of histories or legends relating to Elendil and his heirs.
Only here in the Shire were to be found extensive materials for the history of Númenor and the arising of Sauron.
It was probably at Great Source that The Tale of Years was put together, with the assistance of material collected by Meriadoc.
Though the dates given are often conjectural, especially for the Second Age, they deserve attention.
It is probable that Meriadoc obtained assistance and information from Rivendell, which he visited more than once.
There, though Elrond had departed, his sons long remained, 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 dream book free he sought the Grey Havens, and with him went the last living memory of the Elder Days in Middle-earth.
Book I Chapter 1 A Long-expected Party 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.
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 click here 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.
Baggins was generous with his money, most people were willing to forgive him his oddities and his good fortune.
He remained on visiting terms with his relatives except, of course, the Sackville-Bagginsesand 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.
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.
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.
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 youngest 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.
It beats me why any Baggins of Hobbiton should go looking for a wife away there in Buckland, where folks are so queer.
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.
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 it again.
Drogo, he married poor Miss Primula Brandybuck.
She was our Mr.
Drogo was his second cousin.
Frodo is his first and second cousin, once removed either way, as the saying is, if you follow me.
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 boating on the Brandywine River; and he and his wife were drownded, and poor Mr.
Frodo only a child and all.
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.
Bilbo never did a kinder deed than when he brought the lad back to live among decent folk.
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.
I know nothing about jools.
Bilbo is free with his money, and there seems no lack of it; but I know of no tunnel-making.
Bilbo when he came back, a matter of sixty years ago, when I was a lad.
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.
But my lad Sam will know more about that.
Crazy about stories of the old days he is, and he listens to all Mr.
Bilbo has learned him his letters - meaning no harm, mark you, and I hope no harm will come of it.
But the Gaffer did not convince his audience.
And look at the outlandish folk that visit him: dwarves coming at night, and that old wandering conjuror, Gandalf, and all.
But they do things proper at Bag End.
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 Hobbiton 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 the Brandywine Bridge in broad daylight.
An old man was driving it all alone.
He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and click the following article 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.
His real business was far more difficult and dangerous, but the Shire-folk knew nothing about it.
Hence the excitement of the hobbit-children.
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 the legendary past.
When the old man, helped by Bilbo and some dwarves, had finished unloading.
Bilbo gave a few pennies away; but not a single squib or cracker was forthcoming, to the disappointment of the onlookers.
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 sun-flowers, and nasturtiums trailing all over the turf walls and peeping in at the round windows.
I am very fond indeed of it, and of all the dear old Shire; but I think I need a holiday.
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.
Anyway I mean to enjoy myself on Thursday, and have my little joke.
The next day more carts rolled up the Hill, and still more carts.
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 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 admittance 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.
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.
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.
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, but as they turned up all the https://festes.ru/book/best-casino-strategy-books.html, 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.
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 magical.
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 smoke: their leaves opened like a whole spring unfolding in a moment, and their shining branches dropped glowing flowers down upon the astonished hobbits, disappearing with a sweet scent just before they touched their upturned faces.
There were fountains of butterflies that flew glittering into the trees; there were pillars of coloured fires that rose and turned into eagles, or sailing ships, or a phalanx of flying swans; there was a red thunderstorm and a shower of yellow rain; there was a forest of silver spears that sprang suddenly into the air with a yell like an embattled army, and came down again into the Water with a hiss like a hundred hot snakes.
And there was also one last surprise, in honour of Bilbo, and it startled the hobbits exceedingly, as Gandalf intended.
The lights went out.
A great smoke went up.
It shaped itself like a mountain seen in the distance, and began to glow at the summit.
It spouted green and scarlet flames.
Out flew a red-golden dragon - not life-size, but terribly life-like: fire came from his jaws, his eyes glared down; there was a roar, and he whizzed three times over the heads of the crowd.
They all ducked, and many fell flat on their faces.
The dragon passed like an express train, turned a somersault, and burst over Bywater with a deafening explosion.
The pain and alarm vanished at once, and the prostrate hobbits leaped to their feet.
There was a splendid supper for everyone; for everyone, that is, except those invited to the special family dinner-party.
This was held in the great pavilion with the tree.
The invitations were limited to twelve dozen a number also called by the hobbits one Gross, though the word was not considered proper to use of people ; and the guests were selected from all the families to which Bilbo and Frodo were related, with the addition of a few special unrelated friends such as Gandalf.
Many young hobbits were included, and present by parental permission; for hobbits were easy-going with their children in the matter of sitting up late, especially when there was a chance of getting them a free meal.
Bringing up young hobbits took a lot of provender.
Some of these were only very distantly connected with Bilbo, and some of them had hardly ever been in Hobbiton before, as they lived in remote corners of the Shire.
The Sackville-Bagginses were not forgotten.
Otho and his wife Lobelia were present.
They disliked Bilbo and detested Frodo, but so magnificent was the invitation card, written in golden ink, that they had felt it was impossible to refuse.
Besides, their cousin, Bilbo, had been lord of the rings book 2 free online in food for many years and his table had a high reputation.
All the one hundred and forty-four guests expected a pleasant feast; though they rather dreaded the after-dinner speech of their host an inevitable item.
He was liable to drag in bits of what he called poetry; and sometimes, after a glass or two, would allude to the absurd adventures of his mysterious journey.
The guests were not disappointed: they had a very pleasant feast, in fact an engrossing entertainment: rich, abundant, varied, and prolonged.
After the feast more or less came the Speech.
They were sipping their favourite drinks, and nibbling at their favourite dainties, and their fears were forgotten.
They were prepared to listen to anything, and to cheer at every full stop.
My dear People, began Bilbo, rising in his place.
Bilbo left his place and went and stood on a chair under the illuminated tree.
The light of the lanterns fell on his beaming face; the golden buttons shone on his embroidered silk waistcoat.
They could all see him standing, waving one hand in the air, the other was in his trouser-pocket.
My dear Bagginses and Boffins, he began again; and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots.
His name, of course, was Proudfoot, and well merited; his feet were large, exceptionally furry, and both were on the table.
Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End.
Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy-one today!
Bilbo was doing splendidly.
This was the sort of stuff they liked: short and obvious.
Cries of Yes and No.
Noises of trumpets and horns, pipes and flutes, and other musical instruments.
There were, as has been said, many young hobbits present.
Hundreds of musical crackers had been pulled.
Most of them bore the mark dale on them; which did not convey much to most of the hobbits, but they all agreed they were marvellous crackers.
They contained instruments, small, but of perfect make and enchanting tones.
Indeed, in one corner some of the young Tooks and Brandybucks, supposing Uncle Bilbo to have finished since he had plainly said all that was necessarynow got up an impromptu orchestra, and began a merry dance-tune.
Master Everard Took and Miss Melilot Brandybuck got on a table and with bells in their hands began to dance the Springle-ring: a pretty dance, but rather vigorous.
But Bilbo had not finished.
Seizing a horn from a youngster near by, he blew three loud hoots.
Cheers from all the assembly.
Something in the way that he said this made an impression.
There was almost silence, and one or two of the Tooks pricked up their ears.
Indeed, for Three Purposes!
First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits.
Tremendous outburst of approval.
This was unexpected and rather difficult.
There was some scattered clapping, but most of them were trying to work it out and see if it came to a compliment.
Secondly, to celebrate my birthday.
For it is, of course, also the birthday of my heir and nephew, Frodo.
He comes of age and into his inheritance today.
Together we score one hundred and forty-four.
Your numbers were chosen to fit this remarkable total: One Gross, if I may use the expression.
Many of his guests, and especially the Sackville-Bagginses, were insulted, feeling sure they had only been asked to fill up the required number, like goods in a package.
I was only fifty-one then, and birthdays did not seem so important.
I now repeat it more correctly: Thank you very much for coming to my little party.
They all feared that a song or some poetry was now imminent; and they were getting bored.
But Bilbo did not sing or recite.
He paused for a moment.
Thirdly and finally, he said, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT.
He spoke this last word so loudly and suddenly that everyone sat up who still could.
I regret to announce that - though, as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you - this is the END.
I am leaving NOW.
He stepped down and vanished.
There was a blinding flash of light, and the guests all blinked.
When they opened their eyes Bilbo was nowhere to be seen.
One hundred and forty-four flabbergasted hobbits sat back speechless.
Old Odo Proudfoot removed his feet from the table and stamped.
Then there was a dead silence, until suddenly, after several deep breaths, every Baggins, Boffin, Took, Brandybuck, Check this out, Chubb, Burrows, Bolger, Bracegirdle, Brockhouse, Goodbody, Hornblower, and Proudfoot began to talk at once.
It was generally agreed that the joke was in very bad taste, and more food and drink were needed to cure the guests of shock and annoyance.
For the moment most of them took it for granted that his disappearance was nothing more than a ridiculous prank.
But old Rory Brandybuck was not so sure.
I believe that mad Baggins is off again.
Frodo was the only one present who had said nothing.
He had enjoyed the joke, of course, even though he had been in the know.
He had difficulty in keeping from laughter at the indignant surprise of the guests.
But at the same time he felt deeply troubled: he realized suddenly that he loved the old hobbit dearly.
Frodo did not want to have any more to do with the party.
He gave orders for more wine to be served; then he got up and drained his own glass silently to the health of Bilbo, and slipped out of the pavilion.
As for Bilbo Baggins, even while he was making his speech, he had been fingering the golden ring in his pocket: his magic ring that he had kept secret for so many years.
As he stepped down he slipped it on his finger, and he was never seen by any hobbit in Hobbiton again.
He walked briskly back to his hole, and stood for a moment listening with a smile to the din in the pavilion and to the sounds of merrymaking in other parts of the field.
Then he went in.
He took off his party clothes, folded up and wrapped in tissue-paper his embroidered silk waistcoat, and put it away.
Then he put on quickly some old untidy garments, and fastened round his waist a worn leather belt.
On it he hung a short sword in a battered black-leather scabbard.
From a locked drawer, smelling of moth-balls, he took out an old cloak and hood.
They had been locked up as if they were very precious, but they were so patched and weatherstained that their original colour could hardly be guessed: it might have been dark green.
They were rather too large for him.
He then went into his study, and from a large strong-box took out a bundle wrapped in old cloths, and a leather-bound manuscript; and also a large bulky envelope.
The book and bundle he stuffed into the top of a heavy bag that was standing there, already nearly full.
Into the envelope he slipped his golden ring, and its fine chain, and then sealed it, and addressed it to Frodo.
At first he put it on the mantelpiece, but suddenly he removed it and stuck it in his pocket.
At that moment the door opened and Gandalf came quickly in.
I suppose you feel that everything has gone off splendidly and according to plan?
A little addition of your own, I suppose?
You have wisely kept that ring secret all these years, and it seemed to me necessary to give your guests https://festes.ru/book/free-games-book-of-life-online.html else that would seem to explain your sudden vanishment.
It has now come to the final point.
You have had your joke, and alarmed or offended most of your relations, and given the whole Shire something to talk about for nine days, or ninety-nine more likely.
Are you going any further?
I feel I need a holiday, a very long holiday, as I have told you before.
I need a change, or something.
I want to see mountains again, Gandalf, mountains, and then find somewhere where I can rest.
In peace and quiet, without a lot of relatives prying around, and a string of confounded visitors hanging on the bell.
I might find somewhere where I can finish my book.
I have thought of a nice ending for it: and he lived happily ever after to the end of his days.
I hope he will.
But nobody will read the book, however it ends.
Frodo has read some already, as far as it has gone.
In fact he offered to once, just before the party.
But he does not really want to, yet.
I want to see the wild country again before I die, and the Mountains; but he is still in love with the Shire, with woods and fields and little rivers.
He ought to be comfortable here.
I am leaving everything to him, of course, except a few oddments.
I hope he will be happy, when he gets used to being on his own.
You agreed to that, you remember.
Here it is in my pocket!
Why do you want me to?
It was sharp with suspicion and annoyance.
Magic rings are - well, magical; and they are rare and curious.
I was professionally interested in your ring, you may say; and I still am.
I should like to know where it is, if you go wandering again.
Also I think you have had it quite long enough.
Bilbo, unless I am quite mistaken.
His kindly face grew hard.
It is my own.
It came to me.
Even if Gollum said the same once.
And I shall keep it, I say.
It has got far too much hold on you.
And then you can go yourself, and be free.
Do as you promised: give it up!
If you say that again, I shall.
Then you will see Gandalf the Grey uncloaked.
Bilbo backed away to the wall, breathing hard, his hand clutching at his pocket.
They stood for a while facing one another, and the air of the room tingled.
Slowly his hands relaxed, and he began to tremble.
What is it all about?
I am not trying to rob you, but to help you.
I wish you would trust me, as you used.
He seemed to dwindle again to an old grey man, bent and troubled.
Bilbo drew his hand over his eyes.
And yet it would be a relief in a way not to be bothered with it any more.
It has been so growing on my mind lately.
Sometimes I have felt it was like an eye looking at me.
Go away and leave it behind.
Give it to Frodo, and I will look after him.
It would quite spoil the joke.
You had better take it and deliver it for me.
That will be safest.
It will be safe enough there, till Frodo comes.
I shall wait for him.
Before he could pick it up, the wizard stooped and seized it and set it in its place.
Suddenly it gave way to a look of relief and a laugh.
Bilbo chose his favourite stick from the stand; then he whistled.
Three dwarves came out of different rooms where they had been busy.
It was a fine night, and the black sky was dotted with stars.
He looked up, sniffing the air.
What fun to be off again, off on the Road with dwarves!
This is what I have really been longing for, for years!
Take care of yourself!
You are old enough, and perhaps wise enough.
I am as happy now as I have ever been, and that is saying a great deal.
But the time has come.
Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet.
He paused, silent for a moment.
Then without another word he turned away from the lights and voices in the fields and tents, and followed by his three companions went round into his garden, and trotted down the long sloping path.
He jumped over a low place in the hedge at the bottom, and took to the meadows, passing into the night like a rustle of wind in the grass.
Gandalf remained for a while staring after him into the darkness.
Frodo came in soon afterwards, and found him sitting in the dark, deep in thought.
He always used to joke about serious things.
I wish I had come back sooner, just to see him off.
He left a packet for you.
Still, it may be useful.
But keep it secret, and keep it safe!
Now I am going to bed.
Rumours of strange events had by now spread all over the field, but Frodo would only say no doubt everything will be cleared up in the morning.
About midnight carriages came for the important folk.
One by one they rolled away, filled with full but very unsatisfied hobbits.
Gardeners came by arrangement, and removed in wheel-barrows those that had inadvertently remained behind.
The hobbits rose rather later.
People came and began by orders to clear away the pavilions and the tables and the chairs, and the spoons and knives and bottles and plates, and the lanterns, and the flowering shrubs in boxes, and the crumbs and cracker-paper, the forgotten bags and gloves and handkerchiefs, and the uneaten food a very small item.
Then a number of other people came without orders : Bagginses, and Boffins, and Bolgers, and Tooks, and other guests that lived or were staying near.
By mid-day, when even the best-fed were out and about again, there was a large crowd at Bag End, uninvited but not unexpected.
Frodo was waiting on the step, smiling, but looking rather tired and worried.
He welcomed all the callers, but he had not much more to say than before.
Bilbo Baggins has gone away; as far as I know, for good.
Inside in the hall there was piled a large assortment of packages and parcels and small articles of furniture.
On every item there was a label tied.
There were several labels of this sort: For ADELARD TOOK, for his VERY OWN, from Bilbo, on an umbrella.
Adelard had carried off many unlabelled ones.
For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo, on a large waste-paper basket.
For MILO BURROWS, hoping it will be useful, from B.
Milo never answered letters.
She was a young Baggins, and too obviously considered her face shapely.
For the collection of HUGO BRACEGIRDLE, from a contributor, on an empty book-case.
Hugo was a great borrower of books, and worse than usual at returning them.
For LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS, as a PRESENT, on a case of silver spoons.
Bilbo believed that she had acquired a good many of his spoons, while he was away on his former journey.
Lobelia knew that quite well.
When she arrived later in the day, she took the point at once, but she also took the spoons.
This is only a small selection of the assembled presents.
It was a tendency of hobbit-holes to get cluttered up: for which the custom of giving so many birthday-presents was largely responsible.
Not, of course, that the birthday-presents were always new, there were one or two old mathoms of forgotten uses that had circulated all around the district; but Bilbo had usually given new presents, and kept those that he received.
The old hole was now being cleared a little.
Every one of the various parting gifts had labels, written out personally by Bilbo, and several had some point, or some joke.
But, of course, most of the things were given where they would be wanted and welcome.
The poorer hobbits, and especially those of Bagshot Row, did very well.
Old Gaffer Gamgee got two sacks of potatoes, a new spade, a woollen waistcoat, and a bottle of ointment for creaking joints.
Rory quite lord of the rings book 2 free online Bilbo, and voted him a capital fellow after the first bottle.
There was plenty of everything left for Frodo.
And, of course, all the chief treasures, as well as the books, pictures, and more than enough furniture, were left in his possession.
There was, however, no sign nor mention of money or jewellery: not a penny-piece or a glass bead was given away.
Frodo had a very trying time that afternoon.
A false rumour that the whole household was being distributed free spread like wildfire; and before long the place was packed with people who had no business there, but could not be kept out.
Labels got torn off and mixed, and quarrels broke out.
Some people tried to do swaps and deals in the hall; and others tried to make off with minor items not addressed to them, or with anything that seemed unwanted or unwatched.
The road to the gate was blocked with barrows and handcarts.
In the middle of the commotion the Sackville-Bagginses arrived.
Frodo had retired for a while and left his friend Merry Brandybuck to keep an eye on things.
When Otho loudly demanded to see Frodo, Merry bowed politely.
Just go and tell him so!
It did not improve their tempers.
Eventually they were shown into the study.
Frodo was sitting at a table with a lot of papers in front of him.
He looked indisposed - to see Sackville-Bagginses at any rate; and he stood up, fidgeting with something in his pocket.
But he spoke quite politely.
The Sackville-Bagginses were rather offensive.
They began by offering him bad bargain-prices as between friends for various valuable and unlabelled things.
When Frodo replied that only the things specially directed by Bilbo were being given away, they said the whole affair was very fishy.
I insist on seeing the will.
He read the will carefully and snorted.
It was, unfortunately, very clear and correct according to the legal customs of hobbits, which demand among other things seven signatures of witnesses in red ink.
But Lobelia was not so easily got rid of.
A little later Frodo came out of the study to see how things were going on and found her still about the place, investigating nooks and comers and tapping the floors.
He escorted her firmly off the premises, after he had relieved her of several small but rather valuable articles that had somehow fallen inside her umbrella.
When he had overcome Sancho and pushed him out, Frodo collapsed on a chair in the hall.
He had hardly sat down, when there came a soft knock at the front-door.
The knock was repeated, much louder, but he took no notice.
I thought it was Lobelia.
But I saw her some time ago, driving a pony-trap towards Bywater with a face that would have curdled new milk.
I longed to disappear.
In fact, it is partly about that that I have come to say a last word.
I have heard his story: how he found it, and how he used it: on his journey, I mean.
He said you had pestered him till he told you, so I had better know too.
It was very unlike Bilbo to do so, anyway; and I thought it rather odd.
But odd things may happen to people that have such treasures - if they use them.
Let it be a warning to you to be very careful with it.
It may have other powers than just making you vanish when you wish to.
No need to worry.
But if you take my advice you will use it very seldom, or not at all.
At least I beg you not to use it in any way that will cause talk or rouse suspicion.
I say again: keep it safe, and keep it secret!
What are you afraid of?
I may be able to tell you something when I come back.
I am going off at once: so this is good-bye for the present.
I was looking forward to your help.
Expect me when you see me!
I shall slip in quietly.
I find that I have become rather unpopular.
They say I am a nuisance and a disturber of the peace.
Some people are actually accusing me of spiriting Bilbo away, or worse.
If you want to know, there is supposed to be a plot between you and me to get hold of his wealth.
I would give them Bag End and everything else, if I could get Bilbo back and go off tramping in the country with him.
I love the Shire.
But I begin to wish, somehow, that I had gone too.
I wonder if I shall ever see him again.
Take care of yourself!
Look out for me, especially at unlikely times!
He gave a final wave of his hand, and walked off at a surprising pace; but Frodo thought the old wizard looked unusually bent, almost as if he was carrying a great weight.
The evening was closing in, and his cloaked figure quickly vanished into the twilight.
Frodo did not see him again for a long time.
Chapter 2 The Shadow of the Past The talk did not die down in nine or even ninety-nine days.
The second disappearance of Mr.
Bilbo Baggins was discussed in Hobbiton, and indeed all over the Shire, for a year and a day, and was remembered much longer than that.
It became a fireside-story for young hobbits; and eventually Mad Baggins, who used to vanish with a bang and a flash and reappear with bags of jewels and gold, became a favourite character of legend and lived on long after all the true events were forgotten.
But in the meantime, the general opinion in the neighbourhood was that Bilbo, who had always been rather cracked, had at last gone quite mad, and had run off into the Blue.
There he had undoubtedly fallen into a pool or a river and come to a tragic, but hardly an untimely, end.
The blame was mostly laid on Gandalf.
And to all appearance the wizard did leave Frodo alone, and he did settle down, but the growth of hobbit-sense was not very noticeable.
But that was short of the mark, for twenty guests were invited and there were several meals at which it snowed food and rained drink, as hobbits say.
He said that he did not think Bilbo was dead.
He lived alone, as Bilbo had done; but he had a good many friends, especially among the younger hobbits mostly descendants of the Old Took who had as children been fond of Bilbo and often in and out of Bag End.
Folco Boffin and Fredegar Bolger were two of these; but his closest friends were Peregrin Took usually called Pippinand Merry Brandybuck his real name was Meriadoc, but that was seldom remembered.
Frodo went tramping all over the Shire with them; but more often he wandered by himself, and to the amazement of sensible folk he was sometimes seen far from home walking in the hills and woods under the starlight.
Merry and Pippin suspected that he visited the Elves at times, as Bilbo had done.
Frodo himself, after the first shock, found that being his own master and the Mr.
Baggins of Bag End was rather pleasant.
For some years he was quite happy and did not worry much about the future.
But half unknown to himself the regret that he had not gone with Bilbo was steadily growing.
He found himself wondering at times, especially in the autumn, about the wild lands, and strange visions of mountains that he had never seen came into his dreams.
Frodo began to feel restless, and the old paths seemed too well-trodden.
He looked at maps, and wondered what lay beyond their edges: maps made in the Shire showed mostly white spaces beyond its borders.
He took to wandering further afield and more often by himself; and Merry and his other friends watched him anxiously.
Often he was seen walking and talking with the strange wayfarers that began at this time to appear in the Shire.
There were rumours of strange things happening in the world outside; and as Gandalf had not at that time appeared or sent any message for several years, Frodo gathered all the news he could.
Elves, who seldom walked in the Shire, could now be seen passing westward through the woods in the evening, passing and not returning; but they were leaving Middle-earth and were no longer concerned with its troubles.
There were, however, dwarves on the road in unusual numbers.
The ancient East-West Road ran through the Shire to its end at the Grey Havens, and dwarves had always used it on their way to their mines in the Blue Mountains.
But now Frodo often met strange dwarves of far countries, seeking refuge in the West.
They were troubled, and some spoke in whispers of the Enemy and of the Land of Mordor.
That name the hobbits only knew in legends of the dark past, like a shadow in the background of their memories; but it was ominous and disquieting.
It seemed that the evil power in Mirkwood had been driven out by the White Council only to reappear in greater strength in the old strongholds of Mordor.
The Dark Tower had been rebuilt, it was said.
From there the power was spreading far and wide, and away far east and south there were wars and growing fear.
Orcs were multiplying again in the mountains.
Trolls were abroad, no longer dull-witted, but cunning and armed with dreadful weapons.
And there were murmured hints of creatures more terrible than all these, but wrest point casino show bookings had no name.
Little of all this, of course, reached the ears of ordinary hobbits.
But even the deafest and most stay-at-home began to hear queer tales; and those whose business took them to the borders saw strange things.
Who invented the stories anyway?
They do say that one bigger than a tree was seen up away beyond the North Moors not long back.
He works for Mr.
Boffin at Overhill and goes up to the Northfarthing for the hunting.
What he saw was an elm tree, as like as not.
There was some laughing and clapping: the audience seemed to think that Ted had scored a point.
The Bounders have never been so busy before.
They do say they are going to the harbours, out away beyond the White Towers.
But it was an old tradition that away over there stood the Grey Lord of the rings book 2 free online, from which at times elven-ships set sail, never to return.
He believed he had once seen an Elf in the woods, and still hoped to see more one day.
Of all the legends that he had heard in his early years such fragments of tales and half-remembered stories about the Elves as the hobbits knew, had always moved him most deeply.
Baggins now, that I work for.
He told me that they were sailing and he knows a bit about Elves.
Sam sat silent and said no more.
He had a good deal to think about.
For one thing, there was a lot to do up in the Bag End garden, and he would have a busy day tomorrow, if the weather cleared.
The grass was growing fast.
But Sam had more on his mind than gardening.
After a while he sighed, and got up and went out.
It was early April and the sky was now clearing after heavy rain.
The sun was down, and a cool pale evening was quietly fading into night.
He walked home under the early stars through Hobbiton and up the Hill, whistling softly and thoughtfully.
It was just at this time that Gandalf reappeared after his long absence.
For three years after the Party he had been away.
Then he paid Frodo a brief visit, and after taking a good look at him he went off again.
During the next year or two he had turned up fairly often, coming unexpectedly after dusk, and going off without warning before sunrise.
Then suddenly his visits had ceased.
It was over nine years since Frodo had seen or heard of him, and he had begun to think that the wizard would never return and had given up all interest in hobbits.
But that evening, as Sam was walking home and twilight was fading, there came the once familiar tap on the study window.
Frodo welcomed his old friend with surprise and great delight.
They looked hard at one another.
He pressed him for news of himself and of the wide world, and soon they were deep in talk, and they stayed up far into the night.
Next morning after a late breakfast, the wizard was sitting with Frodo by the open window of the study.
A bright fire was on the hearth, but the sun was warm, and the wind was in the South.
Gandalf was thinking of a spring, nearly eighty years before, when Bilbo had run out of Bag End without a handkerchief.
His hair was perhaps whiter than it had been then, and his beard and eyebrows were perhaps longer, and his face more lined with care and wisdom; but his eyes were as bright as ever, and he smoked and blew smoke-rings with the same vigour and delight.
jackson spinning moonwalk book was smoking now in silence, for Frodo was sitting still, deep in thought.
Even in the light of morning he felt the dark shadow of the tidings that Gandalf had brought.
At last he broke the silence.
You say the ring is dangerous, far more dangerous than I guess.
It is far more powerful than I ever dared to think at first, so powerful that in the end it would utterly overcome anyone of mortal race who possessed it.
It would possess him.
The lesser rings were only essays in the craft before it was full-grown, and to the Elven-smiths they were but trifles - yet still to my mind dangerous for mortals.
But the Great Rings, the Rings of Book club games for adults, they were perilous.
And if he often uses the Ring to make himself invisible, he fades: he becomes in the end invisible permanently, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the dark power that rules the Rings.
Yes, sooner or later - later, if he is strong or well-meaning to begin with, but neither strength nor good purpose will last - sooner or later the dark power will devour him.
There was another long silence.
The sound of Sam Gamgee cutting the lawn came in from the garden.
He thought the ring was very beautiful, and very useful at need; and if anything was wrong or queer, it was himself.
Though he had found out that the thing needed looking after; it did not seem always of the same size or weight; it shrank or expanded in an odd way, and might suddenly slip off a finger where it had been tight.
He took all the credit for that to himself, and he was very proud of it.
Though he was getting restless and uneasy.
Thin and stretched he said.
A sign that the ring was getting control.
There is a last test to make.
But I no longer doubt my guess.
A shadow fell on my heart then, though I did not know yet what I feared.
I wondered often how Gollum came by a Great Ring, as plainly it was - that at least was clear from the first.
When I at last got the truth out of him, I saw at once that he had been trying to put his claim to the ring beyond doubt.
The lies were too much alike for my comfort.
Clearly the ring had an unwholesome power that set to work on its keeper at once.
That was the first real warning I had that all was not well.
I told Bilbo often that such rings were better left unused; but he resented it, and soon got angry.
There was little else that I could do.
I could not take it from him without please click for source greater harm; and I had no right to do so anyway.
I could only watch and wait.
I might perhaps have consulted Saruman the White, but something always held me back.
I have never heard of him before.
Yet he is great among the Wise.
He is the chief of my order and the head of the Council.
His knowledge is deep, but his pride has grown with it, and he takes ill any meddling.
The lore of the Elven-rings, great and small, is his province.
He has long studied it, seeking the lost secrets of their making; but when the Rings were debated in the Council, all that he would reveal to us of his ring-lore told against my fears.
So my doubt slept - but uneasily.
Still I watched and I waited.
And the years passed.
Yes, they passed, and they seemed not to touch him.
He showed no signs of age.
The shadow fell on me again.
There is time yet.
Until that night when he left this house.
He said and did things then that filled me with a fear that no words of Saruman could allay.
I knew at last that something dark and deadly was at work.
And I have spent most of the years since then in finding out the truth of it.
Be able to rest in peace, I mean?
Among the Wise I am the only one that goes in for hobbit-lore: an obscure branch of knowledge, but full of surprises.
Soft as butter they can be, and yet sometimes as tough as old tree-roots.
I think it likely that some would resist the Rings far longer than most of the Wise would believe.
Otherwise, he might live on for years, quite happily: just stop as he was when he parted with it.
For he gave it up in the end of his own accord: an important point.
No, I was not troubled about dear Bilbo any more, once he had let the thing go.
It is for you that I feel responsible.
It would be a grievous blow to the more info, if the Dark Power overcame the Shire; if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bolgers, Hornblowers, Boffins, Bracegirdles, and the rest, not to mention the ridiculous Bagginses, became enslaved.
You should be thankful.
But your safety has passed.
And hobbits as miserable slaves would please him far more than hobbits happy and free.
There is such a thing as malice and revenge.
I was not sure of it myself when I was last here; but the time has come to speak.
Give me the ring for a moment.
He unfastened it and handed it slowly to the wizard.
It felt suddenly very heavy, as if either it or Frodo himself was in some way reluctant for Gandalf to touch it.
Gandalf held it up.
It looked to be made of pure and solid gold.
It is quite plain, and it never shows a scratch or sign of wear.
Frodo gave a cry and groped for the tongs; but Gandalf held him back.
No apparent change came over the ring.
After a while Gandalf got up, closed the shutters outside the window, and drew the curtains.
For a moment the wizard stood looking at the fire; then he stooped and removed the ring to the hearth with the tongs, and at once picked it up.
They shone piercingly bright, and yet remote, as if out of a great depth.
The letters are Elvish, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here.
But this in the Common Tongue is what is said, close enough: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
It is only two lines of a verse long known in Elven-lore: Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all.
One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
This is the One Ring that he lost many ages ago, to the great weakening of his power.
He greatly desires it - but he must not get it.
Fear seemed to stretch out a vast hand, like a dark cloud rising in the East and looming up to engulf him.
The beginnings lie back in the Black Years, which only the lore-masters now remember.
If I were to tell you all that tale, we should still be sitting here when Spring had passed into Winter.
The rumours that you have heard are true: he has indeed arisen again and left his hold in Mirkwood and returned to his ancient fastness in the Dark Tower of Mordor.
That name even you hobbits have heard of, like a shadow on the borders of old stories.
Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again.
But that is not for them to decide.
All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given, us.
And already, Frodo, our time is beginning to look black.
The Enemy is fast becoming very strong.
His plans are far from ripe, I think, but they are ripening.
We shall be hard put to it.
We should be very hard put to it, even if it were not for this dreadful chance.
He lacks the One Ring.
Seven the Dwarf-kings possessed, but three he has recovered, and the others the dragons have consumed.
Nine he gave to Mortal Men, proud and great, and so ensnared them.
Long ago they fell under the dominion of the One, and they became Ringwraiths, shadows under his great Shadow, his most terrible servants.
It is many a year since the Nine walked abroad.
As the Shadow grows once more, they too may walk again.
We will not speak of such things even in the morning of the Shire.
The Three are hidden still.
But that no longer troubles him.
He only needs the One; for he made that Ring himself, it is his, and he let a great part of his own former power pass into it, so that he could rule all the others.
If go here recovers it, then he will command them all again, wherever they be, even the Three, and all that has been wrought with them will be laid bare, and he will be stronger than ever.
He believed that the One had perished; that the Elves had destroyed it, as should have been done.
But he knows now that it has not perished, that it has been found.
So he is seeking it, seeking it, and all his thought is bent on it.
It is his great hope and our great fear.
The Men of Westernesse came to their aid.
That is a chapter of ancient history which it might be good to recall; for there was sorrow then too, and gathering dark, but great valour, and great deeds that were not wholly vain.
One day, perhaps, I will tell you all the tale, or you shall hear it told in full by one who knows it best.
Then Sauron was vanquished and his spirit fled and was hidden for long years, until his shadow took shape again in Mirkwood.
It fell into the Great River, Anduin, and vanished.
For Isildur was marching north along the east banks of the River, and near the Gladden Fields he was waylaid by the Orcs of the Mountains, and almost all his folk were slain.
He leaped into the waters, but the Ring slipped from his finger as he swam, and then the Orcs saw him and killed him with arrows.
But at last I can carry on the story, I think.
I guess they were of hobbit-kind; akin to the fathers of the fathers of the Stoors, for they loved the River, and often swam in it, or made little boats of reeds.
There was among them a family of high repute, for it was large and wealthier than most, and it was ruled by a grandmother of the folk, stern and wise in old lore, such as they had.
The most inquisitive and curious-minded of that family was called Sméagol.
He was interested in roots and beginnings; he dived into deep pools; he burrowed under trees and growing plants; he tunnelled into green mounds; and he ceased to look up at the hill-tops, or the leaves on trees, or the flowers opening in the air: his head and his eyes were downward.
On a time they took a boat and went down to the Gladden Fields, where there were great beds of iris and flowering reeds.
There Sméagol got out and went nosing about the banks but Déagol sat in the boat and fished.
Suddenly a great fish took his hook, and before he knew where he was, he was dragged out and down into the water, to the bottom.
Then he let go of his line, for he thought he saw something shining in the river-bed; and holding his breath he grabbed at it.
But Sméagol had been watching him from behind a tree, and as Déagol gloated over the ring, Sméagol came softly up behind.
Then he put the ring on his finger.
But Sméagol returned alone; and he found that none of his family could see him, when he was wearing the ring.
He was very pleased with his discovery and he concealed it; and he used it to find out secrets, and he put his knowledge to crooked and malicious uses.
He became sharp-eyed and keen-eared for all that was hurtful.
The ring had given him power according to his stature.
It is not to be wondered at that he became very unpopular and was shunned when visible by all his relations.
They kicked him, and he bit their feet.
He took to thieving, and going about muttering to himself, and gurgling in his throat.
So they called him Gollum, and cursed him, and told him to go far away; and his grandmother, desiring peace, expelled him from the family and turned him out of her hole.
He caught fish in deep pools with invisible fingers and ate them raw.
One day it was very hot, and as he was bending over a pool, he felt a burning on the back of his head and a dazzling light from the water pained his wet eyes.
He wondered at it, for he had almost forgotten about the Sun.
Then for the last time he looked up and shook his fist at her.
The Sun could not watch me there.
The roots of those mountains must be roots indeed; there must be great secrets buried there which have not been discovered since the beginning.
The Ring went into the shadows with him, and even the maker, when his power had begun to grow again, could learn nothing of it.
Do you mean that this is the very Gollum-creature that Bilbo met?
There was a great deal in the background of their minds and memories that was very similar.
They understood one another remarkably well, very much better than a hobbit would understand, say, a Dwarf, or an Orc, or even an Elf.
Think of the riddles they both knew, for one thing.
Gollum meant to cheat all the time.
He was just trying to put poor Bilbo off his guard.
And I daresay it amused his wickedness to start a game which might end in providing him with an easy victim, but if he lost would not hurt him.
Even Gollum was not wholly ruined.
He had proved tougher than even one of the Wise would have guessed -as a hobbit might.
There was a little corner of his mind that was still his own, and light came through it, as through a chink in the dark: light out of the past.
It was actually pleasant, I think, to hear a kindly voice again, bringing up memories of wind, and trees, and sun on the grass, and such forgotten things.
Unless it could be cured.
Yet not no hope.
No, not though he possessed the Ring so long, almost lord of the rings book 2 free online far back as he can remember.
For it was long since he had worn it much: in the black darkness it was seldom needed.
He is thin and tough still.
But the thing was eating up his mind, of course, and the torment had become almost unbearable.
He was altogether wretched.
He hated the dark, and he hated light more: he hated everything, and the Ring most of all.
He could not get rid of it.
He had no will left in the matter.
It may slip off treacherously, but its keeper never abandons it.
But as far as I know Bilbo alone in history has ever gone beyond playing, and really done it.
He needed all my help, too.
And even so he would never have just forsaken it, or cast it aside.
It was not Gollum, Frodo, but the Ring itself that decided things.
The Ring left him.
The Ring was trying to get back to its master.
It could make no further use of him: he was too small and mean; and as long as it stayed with him he would never leave his deep pool again.
So now, when its master was awake once more and sending out his dark thought from Mirkwood, it abandoned Gollum.
Only to be picked up by the most unlikely person imaginable: Bilbo from the Shire!
I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker.
In which case you also were meant to have it.
And that maybe an encouraging thought.
But how have you learned all this about the Ring, and about Gollum?
Do you really know it all, or are you just guessing still?
The history of Elendil and Isildur and the One Ring is known to all the Wise.
Your ring is shown to be that One Ring by the fire-writing alone, apart from any other evidence.
I have come back from dark journeys and long search to make that final test.
It is the last proof, and all is now only too clear.
I may have started with guesses about Gollum, but I am not guessing now.
I have seen him.
The obvious thing to do, of course, if one could.
I tried long ago; but I have managed it at last.
Do you know that?
What I have told you is what Gollum was willing to tell - though not, of course, in the way I have reported it.
Gollum is a liar, and you have to sift his words.

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