I just spent last evening with a British immigrant who has just bought a home here in America, which -- along with his job -- he thinks will establish himself well enough here that he shall remain forever. "Good," I said, "and what are you going to do about Donald Trump?"
"Well, if I must leave again I suppose I shall," he said. "I could probably get you out too."
I answered, "I'm not going anywhere. This is my country, and that is the whole reason I own a rifle."
A third party to our discussion, an American from Omaha, jumped in enthusiastically at this point. He missed, in his enthusiasm, our British comrade wiping away tears.
They cannot see the danger from the left, though neither are even slight friends of Ms. Clinton. The danger from the right occupies all their thoughts, though it is perhaps rather less severe. I don't imagine Donald Trump would be trying to run out British émigrés, and I'm not sure how much I think he'll really turn on Hispanic or Muslim ones. I have a feeling it's all talk with him.
But how nice to see enthusiasm for the rifle. How nice to see even the romance of it. It is worth a few glorious tears. It is the final guarantee of liberty.