SOME months ago some American prospectors, while traveling in the interior of Panama, found, at some distance from human habitation, a pretty Indian boy. He appeared to be about three and a half years of age. The gentlemen asked him questions, but it appeared that he was unable to speak. Upon arriving in Panama they bought a goodly supply of clothing for the little lad, and before taking their departure for some other part of the interior they found a home for him with a native woman in the Chiriqui district, to whom they gave enough money to provide for the child until they should return, at which time it was thought that some one of the men would return to the States with the child and would put him in a school for mutes in New York. Physicians who were consulted agreed that the child was deaf and dumb, and plans were formulated to have him instructed in the language of the deaf and dumb by a competent teacher right away.

He was named Abe Lincoln, on account of a certain brightness of expression about his eyes, which reminded his benefactors of the great martyr. They had become very fond of the child, and had taught him many little tricks, which he would display for their amusement.

One of the gentlemen persisted in saying that the boy was not a mute, but that he had been twisted up in the English and Spanish languages; that he had been accustomed to some unknown patois, etc. The persons laughed at this who had declared the boy was unmistakably a deaf mute, and a teacher worked diligently, and with good results. The boy, being imitative, soon knew the motions of the mute alphabet, and his foster mother was so delighted that she went about telling every one of the neighbors.

The child is a general favorite, and has been playing with American children as much as with the Spanish boys of the neighborhood. Yesterday afternoon Abe was sitting on the door-step, whittling a stick, and, being bothered by a fly which hummed about his head, he said, with calmness, “Darn that fly!”

His adopted mother ran and called the other inmates of the house to hear Abe talk, and with delight a boy who spoke English said that he was talking Gringo, all right. On being asked if he was speaking English, he said, in clear accents, “I guess so. Sure!”

To-day scores of people are going back and forth to see the wonder. The physicians who pronounced the boy a mute appear to look upon him as a phenomenon, and one of the men, who rather likes the little chap, said to him, “Who taught you to speak?” The boy answered, “Americans. Sure!”

Hurrah! Much excitement prevails in the neighborhood, and Abe Lincoln is the hero of the hour.