When George King Matthews was writing "The English Lakes, Peaks and Passes..." (published in 1866), it seems likely that he did exactly what he describes in the book- popped over from Coniston for an afternoon. Indeed, some descriptions bear a distinct resemblance to those in earlier works. I'm also still looking for another source for his giant story. This is not the best ever local guide-book!

[From Coniston]: "Beyond the Duddon lies Eskdale, amid some of the wildest scenery in the whole Lake district; and which has not inaptly been compared to portions of the Scottish Highlands. On the western side towers the sky-piercing summits of Scawfell, and those lofty and dizzy Langdale [sic] Pikes, haunts of the eagles, now occasionally, and no doubt their ancient home, when the valleys around were less populous, while on the east, Bowfell with its gentle slopes still renders the passage toilsome, slow and trying. But the head of the vale is open, and has a gradual rise beautiful to look upon, for there the water has its birth that flows between Eskdale and Borrowdale [sic]. Here we have a fine view of Borrowdale with the bright opening of Derwentwater.
Crossing Cockley Beck Bridge you ascend Hardknott; from its summit may be seen the Esk: as it comes winding down this wild valley it has a grand and beautiful appearance, and flows through every variety of wild and pastoral scene; here it is smooth and there rough and rapid, in one place calm as a mirror, in another filled with whirling and boiling eddies, that chase each other round and round, making the head swim only to watch them, until at last they are sucked up in a funnel-shaped vortex. Rock and water, crag and shrub-covered slope- here the silver-branched birch bending over to look at its own shadow; there the mountain-ash throwing its branches across the stream, in such positions as an artist dreams of in his happiest reveries until he enters into such wild, quiet, out-of-the-world places as I have faintly pictured, for it is unsurpassed for picturesque beauty. On the hillside, and about some four hundred yards on the right of the road, stands the ruins of Hardknott Castle. Some say it was built by the Britons, others by the Romans, a few contend it was a temple of the Druids, and some of the dalesmen say it was erected by the Devil as a prison for the giant called Knott, from the massy club he wielded, and with which in a single combat that lasted from the sunlight to starlight, he knocked off the tips of Satan's horns, smashed the end of his tail, and split his hoofs, which before were solid. For my own part I leave the reader to choose his own version, having no doubt that one account is as true as the other, but queer tales are told in these parts. In this valley we have Birker Force, a restless torrent that is incessantly dashing its head against the rocks, and about a mile from a place called Bont [sic] is Stanley Gill, which lies up a deep ravine, worn by the mountain torrents long ago, for the stream that now flows through it is but small, though this deficiency is amply made up for by the wooded beauty of the scene. Birker Force and Stanley Gill are often confounded even by the dalesmen, though they lie so far apart. We now return by Birker Fell to Ulpha, thence over Walna Scar (or by Torver) to our hotel, with an appetite for a good dinner."