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When Mr. Bilbo Baggins, Esquire, of Bag End, H----, announced that he would shortly be celebrating the eleventh annniversary of his centenary year with an affair of singular magnificence, there was much discourse and ebullition in H----, for Bilbo was very affluent and very eccentric and had been the wonder of the Sh---- for three score years, ever since his remarkable evanescence and reappearance (the opulences he had conveyed back from his Odyssian wanderings had now become local legend) and it was popularly held true, whatever the more venerable citizens might aver, that the Hill at Bag End was replete with tunnels filled with treasures beyond imagining; and if that was not enough to be blessed with Fame's fickle favour, there was also his prolonged vigour to marvel at, since, while Time marched on in Her relentless yet awesome majesty, Her ponderous footfalls seemed to have left little imprint on the afformentioned Mr. Baggins.