Having heard of the extraordinary circumstance of an old man named James Horrocks, in his hundredth year, living in Harwood, about three miles from Bolton, whose father lived in the time of Oliver Cromwell, we took an opportunity, a few days ago, of visiting this venerable descendant of a sire who was contemporary with the renowned Protector. Until within the last few years he resided at Hill End, a small estate left him by an uncle when he was about twenty-six years old; but both his surviving daughters being married, and himself growing feeble, and his sight failing him, he left the land and went to reside with his eldest daughter, Margaret, and his son-in-law, John Haslam, at a place called "The Nook," near the Britannia, in Harwood. Here we found the old man, surrounded with every comfort which easy circumstances and affectionate friends can afford, and, to use his own language, "neither tired of living, nor yet afraid to die." He is a remarkably good-looking old man, with long, silvery locks, and a countenance beaming with benevolence and good nature. He has nearly lost the use of his eye-sight, and is a little dull of hearing, yet he is enabled to walk about. The loss of his sight he regrets most of all, as it prevents him from spending his time in reading, to which he was before accustomed; and, as he remarked, also denies him the pleasure of looking upon his children and his old friends. He converses with remarkable cheerfulness for one of his years. As an instance, we may mention, that, on observing to him that he must have been a tall man in his youth, he sprang up from his arm chair with the elasticity of middle age, rather than the decrepitude usually accompanying those few who are permitted to spin out the thread of life to the extent of a century, and, with a humorous smile upon his countenance, put his hands to his thighs, and stood as straight as an arrow against a gentleman nearly six feet, remarking, at the same time, "I don't think I am much less now than ever I was." He stands now about five feet eight inches and a half. A short time ago, on coming down stairs in the morning, he observed to his daughter, with his accustomed good humour, and buoyancy of spirit, "I wonder what I shall dream next; I dreamt last night that I was going to be married again; and who knows but I could find somebody that would have me yet." His son-in-law is an old grey-headed man, much harder of hearing than himself; and it frequently happens, that when any of the family are endeavouring to explain anything to him, old James will say, "Stop, and I'll _insense_ him;" and his lungs seldom fail in the undertaking.