No one would have believed in the last years of the
nineteenth century that this world was being watched
keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man’s and
yet as mortal as his own: that as men busied themselves
about their various concerns they were scrutinised and
studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a
microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that
swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite
complacency men went to and fro over this globe about
their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their
empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria
under the microscope do the same. No one gave a thought to
the older worlds of space as sources of human danger, or
thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life upon them
as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some
of the mental habits of those departed days. At most,
terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon
Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome
a missionary enterprise. Yet across the gulf of space,
minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the
beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and
unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and
slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And early
in the twentieth century came the great
disillusionment.