The insurrection at Messina broke out on Sunday morning, April 11th. The popular movement commenced by shots being fired in the strada Ferdinando. Pieces of furniture were thrown from the windows at the troops. Count Cavour had telegraphed to Leghorn, ordering two steam frigates to proceed at once toward the coast of Sicily, and shelter all fugitives from political vengeance. The cry at Palermo, as well as at Messina, was for union with the Italian kingdom. The disturbances increased, and the Sicilians rose in different places, fought bravely, and maintained themselves with great resolution. Garibaldi was urgently called to their assistance, and was soon in Piedmont collecting men for an expedition. Great enthusiasm was displayed. Many volunteers pressed forward, and considerable numbers of soldiers deserted from the king's army to join their favorite leader. The government and its agents affected not to perceive the movement, and no impediment was thrown in its way. Vessels were prepared at the little port of Cagliari, and the volunteers, collected at convenient points not far distant, marched quietly to the shore, embarked, and sailed in the night of the 6th of May. As the events which followed this first step in the last grand drama of Italian history are fresh in the minds of all, the following brief review of them, recently published by the Paris "Siècle," may not be out of place here: "A man, accompanied by a few volunteers, sails from the environs of Genoa in the night of the 6th of May, on board of a vessel which is not even his own property. He goes to liberate several millions of oppressed people, and to overthrow a powerful monarchy; he is stigmatized as a brigand, and all the penalties inflicted on pirates are invoked on his devoted head; the cry is raised that both he and his followers might be hanged from the yard-arms of their vessel. On the 7th of September this man has almost accomplished the task he had undertaken; the monarchy he assailed is _de facto_ overthrown. A nation is delivered. Now, which are the wise counsellors? Those who advise sovereigns to make concessions to the spirit of the age, or the flatterers who promise them a protracted reign, if they will but resist all progress? The answer is easy now. The king of Naples is a fugitive. Another dynasty has fallen, though surrounded by soldiers, and well provided with cannon and gold; another hope of the counter-revolutionists has fallen away. But the men bent on the ruin of princes still persist in giving the same pernicious counsels. 'The King of Naples has fallen,' say they, 'but General de Lamoricière still remains; he will fight, he will; he is ready, and the revolution will be overcome.' Wretched counsellors! They are not yet satisfied with their work;