Among the delights of small New England towns are their libraries. Perhaps more than in any other part of the country, nearly every hamlet its own library - often the fanciest building in town, probably dating to around the turn of the last century and sometimes sporting the name of its local benefactor. There's the Shedd Free Library in Washington, for example, the Silsby Free Library in Acworth, the Pillsbury Free Library in Warner, the Tucker Free Library in Henniker.

Oh, another thing about our libraries. They frequently incorporate the word "free" in their names.

That's a big deal. We might take them for granted now, but libraries haven't always been free and open to all. For many years after the Gutenberg press made mass printing possible, libraries were private collections of books in, perhaps, universities or the homes of rich people. And, of course, not everyone could read, anyway. Eventually, as literacy increased, libraries-as-clubs arose, offering access to books to privileged members (and you ladies, you could just forget about it). Other entrepreneurs essentially rented books for a tidy fee.

The first really free public library began - as did so many other fine additions to gracious living and indeed civilization itself - in New Hampshire. And almost by accident. It seems the state had collected taxes to establish a college, but the venture came to naught, so in 1833 the money was doled out to various towns to support education. The good citizens of Peterborough decided that they would use the dough to buy books and establish a public library, free to local residents. It proved popular enough that the idea spread throughout the Granite State. In 1849, New Hampshire - the first state to do so - passed a law allowing local communities to levy taxes for libraries.

The nation fell in love with the idea of libraries, and nowhere more then in New England, with its skinflint traditions. Books, after all, cost a pretty penny.

Benefactors - presumably including, here in New Hampshire, folks named Pillsbury and Shedd, Tucker and Silsby - lined up. The libraries, many dating from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, might have been small, but they were symbols of learning and community improvement and often lavishly outfitted with everything from stained glass windows to hand-carved paneling. Townspeople happily donated books and money.

Most of these old libraries, expanded over the years, continue to serve the people of their towns. They've changed with the times, adding children's rooms and free computer internet access. Collections now include tapes, DVDs and CDs. I once volunteered to help run a wildly popular board game night in a California library, and the library in a poor city I lived in later in Ohio offered free computer classes to its patrons.

I'll confess I love libraries. My father was a librarian by training, and even after he'd left the field he was devoted to public libraries. Weekly trips to the library were a family tradition. I worked at our local library after school, and I was accepted at a library school before my life took a different direction. Maybe it's genetic. My niece Molly is a now a librarian in Australia.

So I was delighted to read the Monitor story about the extraordinary effort of volunteers to build and outfit Gilmanton's first year-round library. A great New Hampshire tradition lives on!

Oops. The astonishing number of comments that the story garnered on the Monitor website told another story - one a lot less edifying. The library's organizers are asking the town for $75,000 for a year's operating expenses. And at least some townsfolk are furious. The people who built the library are "the elite." The building's an unnecessary Taj Mahal, an "ego-driven quest."

They particularly rage at the cost, estimated by supporters at about $40 a year for the average homeowner. I understand that. This is a fearsome time as many of us contemplate our changed circumstances and uncertain futures. We are as a nation looking into a financial abyss that no one seems to know how to climb out of. But that is not truly a significant amount of money, even in today's fiscally fraught atmosphere.

And libraries are more vital than ever in hard times, when their use dramatically increases. Circulation is sharply up almost everywhere as people search out free books, music and movies. Libraries are substitute offices to newly unemployed people as they hunt for jobs. Children's story hours are substitutes for day care.

According to the Boston Globe, even FEMA - the Federal Emergency Management Agency - is taking a fresh look at libraries. In Massachusetts, FEMA is considering designating at least some libraries - with their prominent locations, communications abilities and trained staffs - as emergency "informational hubs" following disasters.

I can understand why. In Bow we have the Baker Free Library, built in 1914 on land donated by Henry M. Baker, a congressman and cousin of Mary Baker Eddy. It retains the charm of the original small building but has been greatly expanded and upgraded.

When the ice storm hit in December and many in town were without power for up to eight days, the library became a haven. It had heat. Computers and internet access. Functioning plumbing! And it had welcoming librarians, who periodically passed on bulletins ("Concord Electric says there are four crews repairing lines in Bow today!") from the frontlines.

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