24th September, 1368 SR
A letter came from Brandy Hall this morning. Cousin Drogo and his wife Primula were blessed with a son on 22nd September. On my birthday! What a wonderful present! They named him Frodo. I sent gifts for them, a silver mirror for Primula, a rattle of red, yellow and green stones (one of the toys I ordered from the dwarves to stock up for my nieces and nephews' birthdays) for Frodo and a silver pen for Drogo, to remind him to write to me more often. It becomes very apparent that he prefers to stay at Brandy Hall than in Hobbiton nowadays, no doubt owing to the generous table of Old Rory, who took after his father Old Gorbadoc, in this matter. But to be honest it is a bit hard on me, because now almost all I see of the Bagginses around here is Otho and his dreadful Lobelia and Lotho.
Thought of making a song about hobbit lads and lasses. Isn't it funny that Frodo rhymes quite nicely with Bilbo?
11th February, 1376 SR
I spent a fortnight at Brandy Hall and had a jolly time. As usual, the food was exceptionally good, and the wine even more so. Cousin Drogo is certainly doing very well there, he is definitely rounder than the last time I saw him. The place was crawling with hobbit children, and after supper I had them entranced with the story of the Mirkwood Elves and the giant spiders. Mistress Amaranth scolded me, saying that I would surely give those children nightmares. And sure enough, when I was nearly asleep, one of them crawled up to my bed. It was Frodo.
"Tell me again of the Elves, Bilbo," he whispered.
"What of them?" I said sleepily.
"Their songs. How they look. How they speak," he said breathlessly, he was that excited.
"That'll take ages to tell, my lad," I said, pushing him away. "In the morning, in the morning."
"Can you teach me Elvish speech, Bilbo?" he said, undeterred. "Please, Bilbo."
"What would you need Elvish speech for?" I said.
"I'm going to go on an adventure someday, Bilbo. Just like you," he said, and he was smiling very broadly under the candlelight. "I'm going to fight the spiders and go to Rivendell, like you. I have to know Elvish."
"Oh, good," I smiled vaguely, patting his curls. "We'll start tomorrow then."
"Give me an Elvish word now, Bilbo, for a start," he begged. "I shall not sleep until you do."
"Oh, dear. You don't give up that easily, do you?" I groaned as I tried to remember something Elvish with my sleepy brain. "All right. Listen. 'Elen sila lúmenn' omentielvo'. Now say it."
He repeated solemnly after me. After three repetitions he had it right, he seemed to have the knack to pronounce Elvish words correctly.
"What does it mean, Bilbo?" he asked eagerly.
"'A star shines on the hour of our meeting,'" I told him briskly. "Now, off to bed you go."
"Elen sila lúmenn' omentielvo, Bilbo," he whispered in my ear and he kissed me gently on the cheek and went away still repeating the Elvish words. I lay with my eyes open for hours.
Wrote a stupid song about being lonely, but threw it away. It was disgusting