Material laws may possibly account for it.

I can only speak with certainty of the phenomenon.

I've experienced it; and some among those of my friends who have reached that serene period of life in which we con over our ailments, register our sensations, and place ourselves upon regimens, tell me the same story of themselves.

And this, too, I know, that upon the night in question, Mr.Paul Dangerfield, who was not troubled either with vapours or superstitions, as he lay in his green-curtained bed in the Brass Castle, had as many dreams flitting over his brain and voices humming and buzzing in his ears, as if he had been a poet or a pythoness.
He had not become, like poor Sturk before his catastrophe, a dreamer of dreams habitually.

I suppose he did dream.