Dearest Frodo,

Now now, my lad, before you doom this poor letter to useless folly and a fiery death upon the hearth, do allow me to explain the vital importance of my writing to you at this hour! Yes, it is indeed late as I write, but in my defense, my dreams were invaded by very dark, wraithlike things. I should not like to immerse myself so vulnerably in such a dangerous affair as sleep anymore if pictures like that are to swim about my indolent head! There now, I've already digressed. Forgive me, Frodo, for I fear I might have wasted your precious time already – why, you might have been going out for a walk just now, or a nice whiff of that Eastfarthing weed, if you happen to still have such luxuries around you when you are delivered this letter, that is. Digressing, digressing…I know my lad! My brain is all a mess from the most perplexing dream…

As you are well aware, Frodo, I have left Bag End and all of its worldly possessions to you, and I have entrusted its safety, and otherwise, its legacy to you as well. Has there ever been another name but Baggins to dwell in the halls of Bag End? I daresay not my boy! And it is my hope that there never will be another curly head but that of Baggins blood to be sheltered by the warmth and comfort which Bag End ceaselessly offers, rain, shine, winter and spring! And so, to ensure, expectantly, that my former abode does not fall into less capable hands than yours, Frodo, and that of your heirs, I shall propose a wish, my last, very last, wish I have to ask of you.

Due to my adventures with the dwarves, and the roads which I have taken that led not to content settlement, but far from the very idea of that boring old existence, sitting by the window, waiting for the first rains to fall! But that, my lad, is what happens when discontentment churns the heart, and I have never lost that sense of longing for a new adventure waiting just about the bend of the road. For you, however…you have lived a peaceful life, I deem. And I take it you have spent most of these past years under the green, heavy boughs of the old Shire forest, have you not?

But alas, I digress.

The point which I try so very hard to conclude to, Frodo, is that life is so very lonely without companionship, and I trust that you do not take lightly my meaning. Before you are weary with age, Frodo, I should like you to marry. An intellectual, or a gardener, or socialite lass, my terms are not so strict, if that is what you like! But for you to marry, nonetheless, is my last wish for you Frodo. Marry, and I shall be the most happy hobbit in all of Arda when we meet again, for I know it will be so very soon, Frodo. Our paths will cross, I am sure of it, and lead us, the both of us, along the road of contentment, though I am quite sure that we define very differently the comforts of this life. My surmise is that you find good books and a lush ground of springy turf to lie upon would be a practice you should like to indulge for the rest of your young hobbit life!

Should you decide to fulfill my wish, Frodo, I shall be so very pleased to meet this wife of your when we do meet again! There is a change in the air, Frodo; I feel it as I write! We will meet sooner than you should think.

Until then, my lad, take good care of yourself. Drinking at the old Green Dragon with those miscreants Meriadoc and Peregrin and strolling through the meadows of the Shire will find you nowhere, and you should have no wife before the time will come again for us to see one another again! Throw parties, Frodo, socialize with the whole of Hobbiton, and you should find that wife of yours quicker than the flicker of a cricket's wings.

With all my love,

Bilbo Baggins

P.S.

Oh, and Frodo my lad, upon your thirty-seventh birthday, I have allowed old Will Whitfoot to announce your eligibility – with a bit of a reward for the lass who woos you first!