The rescue of the Greely party of Arctic explorers (a few days too late) has given the public two extraordinary sensations. The first exciting incidents were those of the rescue of a party of men who had gone a few miles nearer to the Pole. We were allowed two weeks of satisfaction and rejoicing over the rescue and the scientific gains of the Greely expedition. Then came a sickening revelation of cannibalism among the starved and dying explorers. The sensational press never seemed so hateful as it did when it went prying into the horrors of the last month of that struggle for life. The cap-sheaf was put on indecency by a pictorial paper which gave a picture of one of the dead men, and printed under it that, after he was dead his comrades ate his flesh. The shamelessness of such journalism can not be rebuked; civilized language has no adequate terms. It is, however, no longer possible to deny that cannibalism is one of the remote possibilities of Arctic exploration. The fact may or may not temporarily arrest the efforts to uncover the secrets of the frozen North. We do not perceive a sufficient reason in the fact. We know that horrors hang around all histories of such discovery—this among them. But this is only a more disgusting fact. We know that the circumpolar battles between man and nature cost human life, rich and costly life, vast sufferings and cruel disappointments. It would be a strange thing if the full exposure of a revolting fact which is not new to the initiated few, should raise a murmur among the many now for the first time enlightened—a murmur so strong as to restrain governments from further explorations. We doubt if public opinion can in that way get a leverage under the scientific enthusiasm and overthrow it.