In the Provincial Museum at Toledo there are several paintings by "The Greek." The portraits of Antonio Covarrubias and of Juan de Avila give example of El Greco's capacity for seizing the characteristics of his sitters. Covarrubias has a fine, rugged, thoughtful face. The canvas seems alive. Very strange are the pictures of "Our Saviour," "St Paul," "St Peter," and other saints in this collection. The figures in many of the artist's paintings are curiously lean and attenuated, the faces long and pinched. In the picture of "Our Saviour" the hands are large, the fingers remarkably thin and pointed. The most fantastic of El Greco's pictures is "The Assumption" in San Vicente at Toledo, in which the ascending figure seems literally flying in the air. "The Burial of Gonzalo Ruiz," in the Church of Santo Tomé, is another splendid composition, revealing amazing skill in portraiture, for each of the figures in the row of Castilian caballeros was drawn from life. The sixth figure, from the right-hand side, is the artist himself. There are technical faults in the picture; there are mannerisms and extravagances; but the work is strongly individual, and we may echo the words of Ponz, the historian, who states that "the city has never tired of admiring it, visiting it continually, always finding new beauties in it." "The Expolio," in the cathedral, we have already seen. If the work of El Greco begins to arouse a desire to study more of his paintings, a day may be spent in visiting the gallery and the churches that contain examples of his different periods. "San José and the Child Jesus" is in the Parish Church of St Magdalen. "Jesus and St John" in St John; portrait of Tavera, in the Hospital of St John; In Santo Domingo there are four pictures by El Greco. The museum has twenty paintings from his brush. "Very few paintings interest me so much as those of El Greco," writes Théophile Gautier, "for his very worst have always something unexpected, something that exceeds the bounds of possibility, that causes astonishment, and affords matter for reflection." Toledo expresses Castile, as Seville reflects Andalusia. For, like its stern surroundings of rocky sierras, the city is austere, even gloomy. Heavy iron gates protect the courtyards, bars screen the windows of the ancient houses, high, stout walls and towers guard the frowning town. The natives are reserved, a little proud in their demeanour, but not inhospitable to the strangers who come and go constantly, and lose their way in the tortuous streets, in spite of plans and guide-books. Persistent beggars hang about the cathedral, and squat, blinking in the sun, along the ramparts. The children pursue the visitor, uttering a few words of broken English, French, and German, asking for a copper in the English tongue, and thanking you for it in French or Spanish.