The Mad Hatters fascination with Alice is hardly surprising. Consider for a moment the oddity of his constant companions, the March Hare, and the Dormouse. One an obvious representation of the constantly erratic English climate, the other a simile for the oh so attractive state of sweet somnolence. The Hatter himself is quite odd enough, a man whose very trade ensures progressive craziness through the effects of the chemicals used in the manufacture of fine top hats, especially those economically priced at tanner short of a pound note. His every mannerism reflect the ongoing creep of insanity, quite obvious to the onlooker, but not so scary as to require immediate incarceration, a common enough sight in the less sophisticated salons of Victorian society.
Dear Alice was effectively the visitor to the hattery, or equally as likely the asylum, where such a strange amalgam of companions might indeed gather about a table to take tea. Passing their endless hours of constant labor or confinement with the hope of appearing a little normal and with some dignity.