I sometimes dream of a larger and more populous house， standing in a golden age， of enduring materials， and without gingerbread work， which shall still consist of only one room， a vast， rude，substantial， primitive hall， without ceiling or plastering， with bare rafters and purlins supporting a sort of lower heaven over one's head ―― useful to keep off rain and snow， where the king and queen posts stand out to receive your homage， when you have done reverence to the prostrate Saturn of an older dynasty on stepping over the sill； a cavernous house， wherein you must reach up a torch upon a pole to see the roof； where some may live in the fireplace，some in the recess of a window， and some on settles， some at one end of the hall， some at another， and some aloft on rafters with the spiders， if they choose； a house which you have got into when you have opened the outside door， and the ceremony is over； where the weary traveller may wash， and eat， and converse， and sleep， without further journey； such a shelter as you would be glad to reach in a tempestuous night， containing all the essentials of a house， and nothing for house-keeping； where you can see all the treasures of the house at one view， and everything hangs upon its peg， that a man should use； at once kitchen， pantry， parlor， chamber， storehouse，and garret； where you can see so necessary a thing， as a barrel or a ladder， so convenient a thing as a cupboard， and hear the pot boil，and pay your respects to the fire that cooks your dinner， and the oven that bakes your bread， and the necessary furniture and utensils are the chief ornaments； where the washing is not put out， nor the fire， nor the mistress， and perhaps you are sometimes requested to move from off the trap-door， when the cook would descend into the cellar， and so learn whether the ground is solid or hollow beneath you without stamping.  A house whose inside is as open and manifest as a bird's nest， and you cannot go in at the front door and out at the back without seeing some of its inhabitants； where to be a guest is to be presented with the freedom of the house， and not to be carefully excluded from seven eighths of it， shut up in a particular cell， and told to make yourself at home there ―― in solitary confinement.  Nowadays the host does not admit you to his hearth，but has got the mason to build one for yourself somewhere in his alley， and hospitality is the art of keeping you at the greatest distance.  There is as much secrecy about the cooking as if he had a design to poison you.  I am aware that I have been on many a man's premises， and might have been legally ordered off， but I am not aware that I have been in many men's houses.  I might visit in my old clothes a king and queen who lived simply in such a house as I have described， if I were going their way； but backing out of a modern palace will be all that I shall desire to learn， if ever I am caught in one.

　　It would seem as if the very language of our parlors would lose all its nerve and degenerate into palaver wholly， our lives pass at such remoteness from its symbols， and its metaphors and tropes are necessarily so far fetched， through slides and dumb-waiters， as it were； in other words， the parlor is so far from the kitchen and workshop.  The dinner even is only the parable of a dinner，commonly.  As if only the savage dwelt near enough to Nature and Truth to borrow a trope from them.  How can the scholar， who dwells away in the North West Territory or the Isle of Man， tell what is parliamentary in the kitchen？

　　However， only one or two of my guests were ever bold enough to stay and eat a hasty-pudding with me； but when they saw that crisis approaching they beat a hasty retreat rather， as if it would shake the house to its foundations.  Nevertheless， it stood through a great many hasty-puddings.

　　我有時夢見了一座較大的容得很多人的房屋，矗立在神話中的黃金時代中，材料耐用持久，屋頂上也沒有華而不實的裝飾，可是它只包括一個房間，一個闊大、簡樸、實用而具有原始風味的廳堂，沒有天花板沒有灰漿，只有光光的椽木和桁條，支撐著頭頂上的較低的天，――卻盡足以抵御雨雪了，在那里，在你進門向一個古代的俯臥的農(nóng)神致敬之后，你看到衍架中柱和雙柱架在接受你的致敬；一個空洞洞的房間，你必須把火炬裝在一根長竿頂端方能看到屋頂，而在那里，有人可以住在爐邊，有人可以往在窗口凹處，有人在高背長椅上，有人在大廳一端，有人在另一端，有人，如果他們中意，可以和蜘蛛一起住在椽木上：這屋子，你一打開大門就到了里邊，不必再拘泥形跡；在那里，疲倦的旅客可以洗塵、吃喝、談天、睡覺，不須繼續(xù)旅行，正是在暴風雨之夜你愿意到達的一間房屋，一切應(yīng)有盡有，又無管理家務(wù)之煩；在那里，你一眼可以望盡屋中一切財富，而凡是人所需要的都掛在木釘上；同時是廚房，伙食房，客廳，臥室，棧房和閣樓；在那里你可以看見木桶和梯子之類的有用的東西和碗櫥之類的便利的設(shè)備，你聽到壺里的水沸騰了，你能向煮你的飯菜的火焰和焙你的面包的爐子致敬，而必需的家具與用具是主要的裝飾品；在那里，洗滌物不必曬在外面，爐火不熄，女主人也不會生氣，也許有時要你移動一下，讓廚子從地板門里走下地窖去，而你不用蹬腳就可以知道你的腳下是虛是實。這房子，像鳥巢，內(nèi)部公開而且明顯；你可以前門進來后門出去，而不看到它的房客；就是做客人也享受房屋中的全部自由，并沒有八分之七是不能擅入的，并不是把你關(guān)起在一個特別的小房間中，叫你在里面自得其樂，――實際是使你孤零零地受到禁錮。目前的一般的主人都不肯邀請你到他的爐火旁邊去，他叫來泥水匠，另外給你在一條長廊中造一個火爐，所謂“招待”，便是把你安置在最遠處的一種藝術(shù)。

　　關(guān)于做菜，自有秘密方法，好像要毒死你的樣子。我只覺得我到過許多人的住宅，很可能會給他們根據(jù)法律而哄走，可是我從不覺得我到許多人的什么家里去過。如果我走到了像我所描寫的那種廣廈里，我倒可以穿了舊衣服去訪問過著簡單生活的國王或王后，可是如果我進到一個現(xiàn)代宮殿里，我希望我學會那倒退溜走的本領(lǐng)。

　　看起來，仿佛我們的高雅言語已經(jīng)失去了它的全部力量，墮落到變成全無意義的廢話，我們的生命已經(jīng)這樣地遠離了言語的符號，隱喻與借喻都得是那么的牽強，要用送菜升降機從下面送上來，客廳與廚房或工作場隔得太遠。甚至連吃飯也一般只不過是吃一頓飯的比喻，仿佛只有野蠻人才跟大自然和真理住得相近，能夠向它們借用譬喻。遠遠住在西北的疆土或人之島的學者怎么知道廚房中的議會式的清談呢？

　　只有一兩個賓客還有勇氣跟我一起吃玉米糊；可是當他們看到危機接近，立刻退避，好像它可以把屋子都震坍似的。煮過那末多玉米糊了，房屋還是好好的站著呢。

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