The imprisoning bottle was opened when he became a student of biology, under Huxley, and the liquid of his suppressed thought began to bubble.  He prefaced his romances by a sketch in the old Pall Mall Gazette, entitled The Man of the Year Million, an a priori study that made one thankful for one’s prematurity.  After that physiological piece of logic, however, he tried another essay in evolution, published in 1895 in book form under the title of The Time Machine—­the first of his romances.

The machine itself is the vaguest of mechanical assumptions; a thing of ivory, quartz, nickel and brass that quite illogically carries its rider into an existing past or future.  We accept the machine as a literary device to give an air of probability to the essential thing, the experience; and forget the means in the effect.  The criterion of the prophecy in this case is influenced by the theory of “natural selection.”  Mr Wells’ vision of the “Sunset of Mankind” was of men so nearly adapted to their environment that the need for struggle, with its corollary of the extermination of the unfit, had practically ceased.  Humanity had become differentiated into two races, both recessive; one, the Eloi, a race of childlike, simple, delicate creatures living on the surface of a kindly earth; the other, the Morlocks, a more active but debased race, of bestial habits, who lived underground and preyed cannibalistically on the surface-dwellers whom they helped to preserve, as a man may preserve game.  The Eloi, according to the hypothesis of the Time Traveller, are the descendants of the leisured classes; the Morlocks of the workers.  “The Eloi, like the Carlovingian kings, had decayed to a mere beautiful futility.  They still possessed the earth on sufferance; since the Morlocks, subterranean for innumerable generations, had come at last to find the day-lit surface intolerable.  And the Morlocks made their garments, I inferred, and maintained them in their habitual needs perhaps through the survival of an old habit of service.”  All this is in the year 802,701 A.D.

The prophecy is less convincing than the wonderful sight of the declining earth some million years later, sinking slowly into the dying fires of the worn-out sun.  Man and the vertebrates have disappeared, and the highest wonder of animal life is represented by giant crustaceans, which in turn give way to a lower form.  We have a vision of an involution that shall succeed the highest curve of development; of life ending where it began in the depths of the sea, as the initial energy of the solar system is dissipated and the material of it returns to rest at the temperature of the absolute zero.  And the picture is made more horrible to the imaginative by the wonder whether the summit of the evolutionary curve has not already been reached—­or it may be passed in the days of the Greek philosophers.