Prince Edward’s Island is a large farm, one hundred miles long, by forty broad.  Can only be reached by boat.  A very high grade of cheese, milk, butter, oats and turnips are raised there.  Instead of weather-boarding the houses they have the sides shingled.  They have the nicest, small, fat horses, fine travelers.

On this, my second visit to Canada, the people did not receive me as cordially as before, owing to a report that I had been in a museum in Chicago on exhibition.  In order to counteract this prejudice against me, I offered a reward of $50.00 for any one who had ever seen me in a museum or on exhibition, which had the desired effect.  There are rum bought papers in Canada as there are in the States.

I was asked to speak in Parliament in Fredericton.  There was a great laugh when I said that governments like fish stink worse at the head.

On my visit to Sydney, Cape Breton, I found that, although they have the Scott Act, which makes it a misdemeanor to sell intoxicants there are dives there just like in Kansas, the officers and political wire pullers defending them just in the same way.

I went into a vile den, the Belmont Hotel.  There was a crowd gathered around the place.  When I went out in front an officer came to me, saying, “You will have to get off the street, you are collecting a crowd.”  I said, I am not disturbing anything, if you object to the crowd, disperse them, let me alone.  He insisted, and so did I. He said nothing to the crowd no one was doing anything, but standing around when he walked up to me and arrested me in the King’s name—­Two got on either side of me and carried me to jail—­When I was there, I found a young boy of about 14 or 15 years of age.  I asked, “Why are you here?” He began to cry bitterly, said, he was put in for calling names.  “Oh, if I had a father or mother to help me out, but they are dead, and I have no friends.”  “What is your fine?” I asked, “Only a dollar.”  “My dear boy, I will do what mother would do, if she were here, kneel down here and let us pray.”  He did, weeping so bitterly all the time.  I asked God to make this a means of saving that dead mother’s precious one.  I said to him, “Now my boy, mother would say my darling son, don’t use bad language.  Be good and love God.  Now I will pay your fine just as mother would do.”  So I called the jailer, who seemed to be a kind man, and paid the dollar.  The boy with his face glowing with happiness, fairly flew out.  In a few minutes the door was opened, a friend went on my bond, and I left to fill my appointment.  There were as many as twenty-five men who volunteered to testify to the unfair arrest.  The case was tried the next day and I was acquitted, the judge saying that.  “All Carry Nation wanted was advertising.  Man’s inhumanity to woman.”  I was glad to open the prison door to the boy, and give him advice at a time when he would take it, for he promised me to be a good boy and serve God.  I expect God sent me there for that purpose.