The folks who disparage the use of home in the sense of "house" divide roughly into two groups. One group is often associated by usage writers with Edgar A. Guest and his famous line, "It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make a home." They write like this:

We build a home with love and time, and build a house with a hammer and saw —A. M. Stires, Jr., letter to editor, Fine Homebuilding, February/ March 1981

How can you in English buy a home any more than love or Killarney? You can buy a house and hope to make your home there —Ian Robinson, Encounter, January 1975

The other group distinguishes the words on the basis of class: Simon 1980 identifies home as non-U, while Paul Fussell, in Class (1983), identifies it with the middle class. Both of these gentlemen were anticipated by Emily Post 1927, who based her opinion on exactly the same grounds.

Both groups like to place the blame for home meaning "house" on the advertising of real-estate agents. Bern­stein 1965, 1971, 1977 at least partially exculpates them from the charge. And well he should. The usage is much older than modern real-estate agents.

In Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary you will find the first sense of home divided into two parts, "domicile" and "house." The distinction represents modern use. The OED does not separate these senses, probably because the distinction is hard to make in the oldest examples. The earliest citation comes from the Lindisfarne Gospels, which are dated around 950, and is a translation of a passage from the New Testament that in the King James Version is the familiar "In my father's house are many mansions" (John 14:2). In the Lindisfarne Gospels the word rendered as mansions by the King James translators is hamas—the Old English for homes. Modern use seems to have begun with Feli­cia D. Hemans around 1835, in a reference to "the stately homes of England." Even Mrs. Hemans is nearly a century earlier than Babbitt and his real-estate promoters.

If we forget the practice of real-estate agents and advertising writers and turn to ordinary prose writers, we find that Bernstein is right in his observation that home and house are often interchangeable. Writers sometimes contrast them and at other times do not.

Their house, I assume, gives them a large measure of happiness. Yet why does my calling their home vul­gar also give me such a measure of happiness? — Aristides, American Scholar, Winter 1981/82

... had come down to New York from her home in Bridgeport, a clapboard house —E. L. Doctorow, Ragtime, 1975

I saw the home of General Walker in Dallas—a big two-story battleship-grey clapboard house —Flan-nery O'Connor, letter, 17 Nov. 1962

Our house is our home. We live there —And More by Andy Rooney, 1982

... 107 acres of land with a home on it —Stephen Singular, New York, 8 Dec. 1975

... a loan they were trying to get at the bank to make their house smaller —And More by Andy Rooney, 1982

... half of Foxy's home rested on a few cedar posts and Lally columns footed on cinder block —John Updike, Couples, 1968

A number of commentators have remarked on the tendency to buy a home and sell a house:

... he bought a home in the Hollywood Hills for­merly owned by Howard Hughes —Current Biogra­phy, July 1965

They talked about buying a new, smaller home.... They figured they could get $75,000 for their old house —And More by Andy Rooney, 1982

There is nothing wrong with distinguishing home and house if you want to. But be aware that many writers other than those involved in real estate will sometimes use them interchangeably.(资料出处：韦伯斯特英语用法词典)