Her child may grow up with talents unlike hers, or with none at all; as the
son of Howard was selfish, the son of Chesterfield a boor, and the son of
Wordsworth in the last degree prosaic.

Or the special occasion when she might have done great good may have passed
before her boy or girl grows up to do it. If Mrs. Child had refused to
write "An Appeal for that Class of Americans called Africans," or Mrs.
Stowe had laid aside "Uncle Tom's Cabin," or Florence Nightingale had
declined to go to the Crimea, on the ground that a woman's true work was
through the nursery, and they must all wait for that, the consequence would
be that these things would have remained undone. The brave acts of the
world must be performed _when occasion offers, by the first brave soul_ who
feels moved to do them, man or woman.

If all the children in all the nurseries are thereby helped to do other
brave deeds when their turn comes, so much the better. But when a great
opportunity offers for direct aid to the world, we have no right to
transfer that work to other hands--not even to the hands of our own
children. We must do the work, and train the children besides.

I am willing to admit, therefore, that the work of education, in any form,
is as great as any other work; but I fail to see why it should be greater.
Usefulness is usefulness: there is no reason why it should be postponed
from generation to generation, or why it is better to rear a serviceable
human being than to be one in person. Carry the theory consistently out: if
each mother must simply rear her daughter that she in turn may rear
somebody else, then from each generation the work will devolve upon a
succeeding generation, so that it will be only the last woman who will
personally do any service, except that of motherhood; and when her time
comes it will be too late for any service at all.