From the Augusta (Geo.) Chronicle.

The following beautiful parody, which we met with in the hands of a respected friend, and were permitted by him to take a copy for publication, is attributed to the Hon. Warren R. Davis of South Carolina—a gentleman no less distinguished, admired and beloved for his many and striking literary acquirements, private virtues, social qualities, fine manners, polished, varied and brilliant wit and vivid fancy,—than for his ardent patriotism, open and fearless honesty, independence, eloquence, and disinterested devotion to his gallant and glorious state. It is said to have been written, on the sportive suggestion of the moment, as a contribution to the Album of the talented, accomplished and witty lady of the Hon. Mr. Johnston of the United States Senate from Louisiana. The old air of "Roy's Wife of Aldavalloch" is, we think, one of the most rare and beautiful specimens of that class of Scottish music, which was probably introduced from Italy, in the time of the brilliant but unfortunate Queen Mary.

PARODY.

Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
The fairest flower that ever bloomed
In southern sun or gay savannah.1
The Inca's blood flows in her veins—2
The Inca's soul her bright eyes lighten;
Child of the sun, like him she reigns,
To cheer our hopes, our sorrows brighten.
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
The fairest flower that ever bloomed
In southern sun or gay savannah.
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
She hath a way to win all hearts,
And bow them to the shrine of Anna!
Her mind is radiant with the lore
Of ancient and of modern story—
And native wit of richer store
Bedecks her with its rainbow glory.
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
She hath a way to charm all hearts,
And bow them to the shrine of Anna!
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
The hapless bard who sings her praise,
Now worships at the shrine of Anna?
Twas such a vision, bright but brief,
In early youth his true heart rended,
Then left it like a fallen leaf,
On life's most rugged thorn suspended.
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
Johnston's wife of Louisiana!
The hapless bard who sings her praise
Wept tears of blood for such an Anna!

1 "The gayest scene in nature is a southern savannah, enamelled with its rich variety of flowers."—Humboldt.

2 "The Incas claim their descent from the sun."—Las Casas.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

BEAUTY WITHOUT LOVELINESS.

He looked on the chiselled form and face,
And the roseate blush beguiling,
And the arch of the eye-brow's pencilled trace,
And the lip in moisture smiling:
He looked on the raven curls that fell
O'er the brow of Parian whiteness,
And the silken lash that softened the spell
Of the eye that swam in brightness:
He looked on the slender hand that shone,
Where the sparkle of gems abounded,
Like the star of eve on her vesper throne,
By the pearls of the sky surrounded:
He looked on the arm, as in floating grace,
It waved o'er the chords entrancing,
And the feathery foot, as it marked each trace
Of the melody in dancing.
He looked on all these, while links of gold
With the silken chain were blended;
And yet in his bosom calm and cold,
No wave of the soul ascended.
No rapture glowed in his tranquil gaze,
The tremulous thought revealing;
He looked for the light of soul in the face,
And saw not a ray o'er it stealing.