Some Dry HandlesLast Friday afternoon found us on the. road to Rincon where we had been intending to go for some weeks. The day was almost perfect. , Driving across the mesa the fresh coast breeze fanned one gently, filling the lungs with the invigorating and healthful breath from old Neptune’s briny dominion. Ahead of us and on both sides the gently sloping mesa stretched away with even incline from the verdure-clad sides of the Temescal mountains on the left to where the green fringe of willows and cottonwoods marked the course of Temescal creek on fhe right. Still farther to the right, beyond the bluffs that align the north banks of the Temescal, extends a brlad valley with here and there a clump of trees showing the location of a rancher’s home, and in the bosom of the vale is seen the new and rapidly growing town of Chino which thrives upon the pure air, abundant water and fertile soil like its own orchards and vineyards.t • * **Stretching still away and away the plain sdenis as if it would scale the very mountains which loom up at its uttermost verge, twenty-five miles or more to the northward, their rugged outlines softened by the distance and a dreamy purple haze enveloping them in its ether-ial embrace. Beneath their frowning peaks, where the ambitious plain laps over upon their bases a score of towns and villages can* be distinguished with orchards upon every hand speaking of plenty and peace. The whole forms a magni-ecnfc landscape.