The debate on the Clay resolutions had scarcely begun when the daily arrival of distress petitions furnished a diversion in the Senate. The memorials were lugubrious recitals of wreck and ruin, and pathetic appeals for the restoration of the deposits. Frequently presented by committees, the bearers repaired to the gallery to give sympathetic ear to the mournful speeches of the Senators to whom their petitions had been entrusted. There was a marked similarity in the petitions, and an even more striking resemblance in the speeches. The burden of both was that the happiness of a prosperous community had been struck down by a tyrant, and that nothing but the restoration of the deposits could end the agony. That the action of such men as Clay, Webster, and Calhoun, in picturing in lurid and exaggerated colors the distress of the moment, and predicting even greater calamities, was calculated to frighten the timid and create panic must have been understood by them. At any rate, these petitions were part of the leaders’ plan.[702] This phase of the fight developed with the presentation of Clay’s resolution to “inquire into the expediency of affording temporary relief to the community from the present pecuniary embarrassments by prolonging the payment of revenue bonds as they fall due.” This resolution opened the way for Clay’s first “distress speech.” And Forsyth, who was something of a cynic in his way, saw no objection to the resolution, provided it were amended by instructing the committee “to inquire into the extent and causes of the alleged distress of the community, and into the propriety of legislative interference to relieve them.” The proposal of the amendment gave Forsyth the opportunity to present the Administration’s opinion of the panic. He had no doubt that there was distress, but it had been greatly exaggerated. “Whence does it arise?” he asked. “From the conflict--the war that the Bank is waging to get the deposits back. The deposits have been removed. The Bank stands still to see what will follow, and it stands still, too, that its power may be felt in every nerve and fiber of the community--and every man shall feel the necessity of the institution.”[703] Thus the panic speeches began. “There sits Mr. Biddle,” rather stupidly exclaimed one Senator, presenting a petition, “in the presidency of the Bank, as calm as a summer’s morning, with his directors around him, receiving his salary, with everything moving on harmoniously; and has this strike reached him? No, sir. The blow has fallen on the friends of the President and the country.”[704] Thus did one Opposition leader rejoice in the serenity of the Bank and its president in the midst of the distress of his country.