Harriet Martineau's "A Complete Guide to the Engish Lakes" (published in 1855) is one of the most famous of the "romantic era" guides which followed the great lead of Wordsworth. This extract also contains a rather good anecdote.

From Ulpha: "...it is a charming walk by the stepping-stones, celebrated by Wordsworth, and up over the moor, to descend upon Eskdale. The travelling party sees nearly the same view, as far as the mountain is concerned, by crossing at Ulpha Kirk, and getting upon the moor that way. As soon as the enclosures are past, up springs the lark, and freely run the rills, and keen is the air; and ghostlike are the mountains that appear by degrees above the high foreground of the moor. It is a rare pleasure in the lake district to meet with the lark. It is only on a very wide expanse of moorland that it can happen; for in the valleys the birds of prey allow no songsters. The eagles are gone (or nearly), and few ravens are left among the crags; but there are hawks domineering in every vale; so that those who would hear the lark must go out to such places as Birker Moor.- The mountain group in front is that which has been remarked upon before as the centre of the region; the lofty nucleus whence the vales diverge (as Wordsworth observed after Green) "like the spokes of a wheel". Scawfell is the highest; and the whole line, from that peak to Hardknot, is very fine in all lights. The dark basin formed in the midst of the group will be observed. There Wast Water lies.
On the right, a rude new road at length appears, tending towards a wooded ravine. That ravine is Stanley Ghyll, and at its head is the waterfall. The key may be had at the farmhouse of Dalegarth...
The Stanley Ghyll fall has much the character of Ara Force; and the immediate surroundings may perhaps be rivalled by other waterfalls in the district. But the glen itself is indisputably the finest in the region; and it is scarcely possible to say too much of the view from the Moss-house on the steep, which should certainly be the first point of view. From hence the eye commands the whole ravine, whose sides are feathered with wood from base to ridge. The fall is between two crags,- the one bare, the other crowned with pines; and if there is a slant of sunlight between them, it gives the last finish of beauty to the chasm. The most modern element in the scene, the young larches, cannot offend the eye,- so well is their vivid green intermingled with the well-grown beech, oak, birch, and hollies, of a soberer hue. There is a bridge below, descried from the moss-house, which will tempt the stranger to find his way down; and there he will meet with two more, by means of which he will reach the fall. Here, among a wilderness of ferns and wild flowers, he may sit in the cool, damp abyss, watching the fall of waters into their clear rock-basin, till his ear is satisfied with their dash and flow, ad his eye with the everlasting quiver of the ash sprays, and swaying of the young birches whch hang over from the ledges of the precipice. A path then leads him under the rocks, now on this side of the stream, and now on that, till he emerges from the ravine, and winds his way through the hazel copse to the gate.
It may be thought that our travellers have not leisure for much of this meditating in the glen: and it is true that by this time, the sun is sloping westwards; but there are only six miles to be travelled; and there are no more rough mountain tracks today, but a good road,- (wonderfully red) across Eskdale, and all the way to Strands.
After crossing the Esk, and passing the little inn at Bout, the road runs above the river, till, at the King of Prussia Inn, it turns up out of Eskdale and crosses into Miterdale. Before Eskdale is lost sight of, the opening of the valley to the sea affords a fine view, with the little town of Ravenglass seated in the bay where the Irt, the Mite, and the Esk flow into the sea. Then comes a long ascent, and more views of the levels towards the coast,- rich with woods and fields, bounded by sands and sea. Then there is a descent, to cross the Mite; and another ascent; and a descent again to pretty Santon Bridge..."

Over Wrynose and Hardknott: "The ascent of Wrynose from this point is long and rather steep: but the views behind become grander with every step. The travellers are now in Westmorland; but at the three shire stones at the top, where three counties meet, they will step into Lancashire, in order to leave it for Cumberland at Cockley Beck bridge, within three miles further on. We are glad to hear that a spirited citizen of Ambleside, to whom his neighbours are under great obligations, has erected a stone pillar at the spot where the shire stones are, that the junction of the counties may not be overlooked (as it easily might be before) by the unobservant traveller. Young tourists, who happen to have long limbs, may enjoy the privilege of being in three counties at once, by setting their feet on two of the stones, and resting their hands on the third. The stream which is now on thhe right, divides Lancashire from Cumberland, and Westmorland is left behind.
We know nothing wilder in the district than the next two miles. These are the desolate hills in which the Duddon and the Esk take their rise; and Cockley Beck is the spot where the Duddon must be left, to cross over to the Esk. There is a farmhouse near the bridge, where horses can be refreshed, when a car comes this way, while travellers sit down by the stream to dinner. A melancholy and harassed traveller once came this way, whose adventure is still talked over in Eskdale and Borrowdale. A party of tourists, among whom were two sisters, were on the heights, intending to cross Esk Hause into Borrowdale, and to spend the night at Seathwaite,- the first settlement there. Now there is, as we have seen, another Seathwaite on the Duddon; and mistakes frequently arise between them. On Esk Hause, one of the ladies lost sight of her party behind some of the rocks scattered among the tarns there, and took a turn to the right instead of the left. A shepherd of whom she inquired her way to Seathwaite pointed down the Duddon valley; and that way she went till she found herself at Cockley Beck, when the old shepherd farmer who lived there was getting his supper in the dusk of the autumn evening. He used his best courtesy to induce her to stay till daylight: but she was bent on going at once,- so great would be her sister's terror. As she would not be persuaded, the old man went with her, putting his crust into his pocket. It was dark, and the lady was weary; and she was not aware what she was undertaking. After a long struggle, she fainted. The old man was afraid to leave her, lest he should not find her again: but he succeeded in reaching the water without losing sight of her white dress. He dipped his crust and brought water in his hat to bathe her face. She revived, ate the crust, and strove onwards,- persevering on her weary way till between one and two in the morning, when she met her sister and a party coming from Seathwaite in Borrowdale, with a dozen lanterns, to search for her. She gave her guide "a one pound note;" (it was so long ago as that) and afterwards, sent him two more. The whole family connexion of that lady will remember for ever that there is a Seathwaite on each side of Esk Hause.
From Cockley Beck, the road climbs the side of Hardknot, and from the highest point commands a view of the sea. The descent into Eskdale is charming,- the ravine to the left, in which the infant river flows down, being beautifully wooded, and the whole valley, with its few hamlets and many sheep, lying open, as far as the sea. In three miles from Cockley Beck, the bridge over the Esk is passed; and Stanley Ghyll is less than three miles further. Scawfell, and all that group of summits are in view to the right, during the descent: and to the left, Birker Force is seen dashing over the rocks. Bout comes next, and then Dalegarth and Stanley Ghyll..."

This way to the local entries from Harriet Martineau's directory of Lakeland.
And here is another version of the "wrong Seathwaite" story.