Captain FRANKLIN A. BARTLETT was born June 21st, 1845, in Bridgeport, Conn. He resided in his native town attending school till the outbreak of the war found him a clerk in a store. Always fond of military life, and anxious to serve his country, he enlisted in Co. A of the 14th, on his 17th birthday, June 21st, 1862.

The writer well remembers him as one of the first men on the campground at old Camp Foote, in Hartford, where despite his extreme youth (he was the youngest officer we ever had), his attention to, and interest in his duties at once made him a favorite with his superior officers. Captain Merritt at once made him a sergeant, and he left the State as such. He was with the regiment in all its campaigns, and despite his slight figure, bore his part unflinchingly. March 19th, 1864, his promotion to a 2d Lieutenancy came to be speedily followed by his commission as 1st Lieutenant, July 21st, 1864.

February 5th, 1865, he was killed outright, in the first battle of Hatcher's Run, Va. He had been recommended for promotion to a Captaincy, and the commission was issued, dated Feb. 7, 1865, but of course did not reach him living.

Funeral services were held in the Beacon Street Methodist Episcopal Church, at Bridgeport, Feb. 27th, 1865, Rev. Mr. I. Simmons conducting the service. The body was interred in Mountain Grove Cemetery, having been born to the grave by six commissioned officers, including Lieuts. Hawley and Knowlton, of the 14th. The funeral was very largely attended, the city authorities and a military company being in the procession. Captain Bartlett was a young officer of great promise, and had he lived to enter the regular army as he purposed, would doubtless have won distinction therein. But though he lived but nineteen years and seven months, he lived a life that many who reach their three score and ten never attain, a life unstained by meanness, selfishness, or hypocrisy—a life of loyal and successful endeavor to be of use to his comrades and his country.

Who dares tell us that such lives are brief, for

We live in deeds, not years; in thought, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial,

We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives

Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.