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This chapter is a splendid one - I think that, at least on a superficial level, it's one of the most enjoyable chapters Book I. That effect, I believe, arises largely from Tolkien's skillful use of various contrasts in this chapter.
First of all, there is an obvious contrast with the preceding chapters. We have emerged from Tom Bombadil's country and back into the main plot. We are back to worrying about things like Black Riders. There is almost a sense of relief on the reader's part - important threads of the plot that have been hanging quite unresolved since chapter 5 are now taken up again.
Another contrast with what has preceded is that whereas all the previous narrative consists mainly of a cycle of journey/adventure/refuge scenes, this chapter does not fit readily into that scheme.
On the surface, it could be considered a refuge, a safe-place. But there are important contrasts within the chapter as well. Despite its ostensible status as a safe haven chapter, the atmosphere here constantly contradicts that interpretation - right from the meeting with Harry the gatekeeper, who says there are "queer folk about", we know that Bree is wholly unlike Bag End, or Woody End, or Maggot's house, or Crickhollow, or Bombadil's house. Tolkien also continues to reap the benefit of his slowly wrought tension with regard to the Black Riders. When we hear that "a dark figure climbed quickly in over the gate and melted into the shadows of the village street" we immediately think we know what it is - it's the same trick, of course, that he used with Merry at the end of chapter 4.
There are other contrasts here (and they carry over into chapter 10 as well). Big folk vs. little folk; merriment vs. fear of the strangers; Hobbit-like curiosity vs. suspicion; Frodo's song vs. his disappearance; Strider's ominous appearance vs. his true nature (he looks foul and feels fair). We are allowed to become comfortable, but never too comfortable. These contrasts contribute greatly to the build-up of tension. For the ominous gains something in power by being set aside the ordinary; catastrophes seem worse if they come in the midst of merriment. This is the sort of trick that Hitchcock would often use - a murder is all the more shocking if it happens in a friendly-looking little motel, in a shower (usually a safe, warm place). Similarly, Frodo's disappearance seems more catastrophic for following such a jolly song.
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